Aequitas
by The Fighting Irishman
Summary: As a war for the fate of the Commonwealth rages, inside Diamond City there is another, equally important war raging as the Institute finally is put on trial for its crimes. It is not just a trial for the fate of the Institute: it is also a trial for the future of the Commonwealth as well... *The Follow-up to ZUGZWANG and DETENTE.*
1. A Drink Before the War

A/N: I own nothing except the laptop I wrote this story on.

It had been an uncharacteristically hot summer.

Usually around this time of the year there were at least a couple of days where the clouds would come rolling in from beyond, offering momentary relief from the scorching heat. Once upon a time, there had been a legend of a so-called "dry heat," where you weren't left feeling like you were going to melt in the unflinching sun. Those days were long past, though: every hot summer day in the Commonwealth felt as though it was going to melt you, with clothes sticking to increasingly sweaty skin.

And this summer was uncharacteristically hot.

At least, that was what he was always told. Truthfully, he didn't care one way or another. To a ghoul like him, _every_ summer was hot. It probably had something to do with the fact that ruined skin wasn't exactly the best at keeping UV rays away. Of course, considering the radiation from the years after the Great War hadn't killed him, he highly doubted that a couple days in the sun were going to do the trick. But even he had to note the slightly reserved nature of things.

The guards were all watching the wall, their scoped rifles studiously scanning the horizon for signs of enemy activity. Back in the day, things weren't so tight: a travelling raider pack was never stupid enough to launch a suicidal attack on the impregnable Wall, and most of the wildlife stayed away from Diamond City on principle.

But there was a new enemy out there in the Commonwealth. One that didn't necessarily play by the rules that everyone and everything was used to.

He walked through the town square of Diamond City, and stopped in front of the armory. He cleared his throat, and within seconds the owner popped his head up and out from behind the desk.

" _Ay dios mio,_ bit of a hot day, isn't it Zinn?" Arturo asked. He was sweating a little bit, some glistening beads of sweat dripping from his forehead. He wiped them off with a slightly smudged hankerchief, and gave a shrug. _What can I say?_ was written all over the gesture.

Zinn just smirked.

"So I've heard. You smoothskins never really learned to handle it that well, did you?"

"Well, Zinn, I suppose when we decide to just start peeling our skin off so that we can fit in with you, I'm sure we'll get around to it. Just gotta convince some of the prettier people in the Commonwealth that that's an okay goal, and _then_ you might get some traction."

Zinn pretended to look hurt.

"Are you suggesting that _I'm_ not the prettiest person in the Commonwealth, Arturo?" Zinn asked.

Arturo laughed.

"Zinn, don't take this the wrong way, _amigo,_ but you're so ugly that when you cry your tears run down the back of your head because they can't bear the sight of your face."

Zinn just stared impassively at the gun salesman, and then finally cracked a small smile.

"I just want you to know that I'm trying very hard not to be amused by that one." Zinn admitted. Arturo just winked.

"So what brings you out of the schoolhouse?" He asked. "Heard you and Zwicky are holed up in there close to all day, every day." He shook his head. "That ain't healthy, man."

"I know." Zinn said. "I'm already over two hundred years old, though. Thre's not really anything that I can do to myself to damage: I'm already kind of damaged goods."

"What about Zwicky?" Arturo asked. "I hear that you're basically giving him a crash course in legal history in there."

"I'm afraid that I can't discuss that, Arturo. Attorney confidentiality and all."

"Please." Arturo said. He took out a small sidearm from under the desk, safely ejected any and all rounds in the gun, and began to clean the interior of the weapon. "You always come out here and talk to me, because you know that no one else wants to talk to the two of you until we get a verdict. No offense, _hombre,_ but you and Zwick are kind of pariahs."

"I'm a ghoul. I'm used to it."

"But he ain't." Arturo said, pointing over to the schoolhouse.

"He's a schoolteacher." Zinn said. "He's used to being bossed around by parents and dealing with unruly kids that don't like him."

"That's a different thing, man." Arturo said. "Kids hate teachers because they think that's what they're supposed to do. And most of them actually don't. And parents deep down just want the best for their kids, because they think that their teacher is someone that needs to be properly motivated. But defense attorneys for the Institute?" He paused, and shook his head. "Man. That's a whole different kind of hate there. That's…I dunno. That's _visceral_ shit, man."

"So why do you talk to us, then?" Zinn asked, raising a mottled eyebrow. Arturo shrugged.

"Maybe Mayor Pitt is paying me on the side so that you two have someone to talk to."

"Then you can tell Mayor Pitt that as soon as we're done with the trial of the Institute, he can look forward to bribery charges."

"Kidding, Zinn. I was kidding." Arturo kept cleaning the inside of the gun, and then stopped to look Zinn in the eye. "I guess I just want you two to know that you got someone, you know? Because I know that the two of you are just being asked to do a job. You would have turned it down if you could, but there's no one that could do it in your place, so you got the shit detail. The least I can do is remind you that you aren't alone. Might go crazy in that schoolhouse."

Zinn cracked a small smile.

"Well, I'm glad that at least someone around here isn't giving us the wide berth." Zinn finally said. "So I appreciate that…even if the only person that's willing to talk to us is the local gun dealer." Arturo chuckled at that, and then Zinn raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you worried that people are gonna start avoiding you if they find out that you like talking to us right now?"

"What, me worry?" Arturo asked. "Somehow I highly doubt that the people are going to stop talking to the only gun runner in town. Especially in today's troubled times."

There was an awkward pause.

"You heard anything, lately?" Zinn finally offered, breaking the silence. "Because, you know, Zwicky and I are kind of in a box right now. Don't really have the time to catch up on the news."

"I haven't heard much." Arturo shrugged. "I just know that the big fight right now is around Jamaica Plain. You might have better luck asking Miss Wright. She managed to get back home last night."

"Piper's back?" Zinn asked.

"I know. Crazy, right?" Arturo asked. He looked around, and then leaned in close. "You know, I don't think it's smart for her to keep running off to some of the warfront places the way she does. I mean, I get that she wants the _Publick_ to keep running in a time of war, but after a certain point her luck might run out."

"I agree…" Zinn muttered. "I'll see you later, Arturo."

"Hang in there, chief." Arturo said. "And say hi to Edna for me. She was really nice when she was out shopping yesterday."

…

"EXTRA! EXTRA! FIGHT RAGES ON IN JAMAICA PLAIN! OUTCOME UNCERTAIN!"

If nothing else, Zinn had to admire the lungs on the younger Wright girl. Nat was tireless in her job, and still managed to find time to go to school in the morning. She was running a special part-time education deal, with Zwicky sending her assignments to take home so that she could keep up with her classmates. Normally, that might be a recipe for disaster, but Nat's sister was Piper Wright. If there was anyone that respected honesty and integrity moreso than Piper Wright, Zinn had yet to meet them.

At least seven people walked up to the front of the _Publick_ office building and deposited the sales price for the daily paper. He had heard that once upon a time, the _Publick Occurences_ was a struggling little pipe dream that Piper had started a long time ago for little more than righteous indignation. Now it was a respected and profitable newspaper. That was something else. And she had made enough money to not only pay her rent for the next six months outright, but also hire another copywriter. Jethro the retired Minuteman now actually got a small salary (instead of doing it for free as well as room and board) for both his work on fixing "Baby" (Piper's beloved printing press) as well as his new job as a local reporter. He wasn't as good as Piper (and he was the first to admit it), but he was a sound reporter that was good at reporting on local Diamond City news. Thus, that freed Piper up to pursue some of the "bigger" Commonwealth stories. Zinn could remember when there were legitimate news organizations: The old Boston Globe came to mind. Maybe one day, after all of this craziness settled, he might give Piper a push in that direction. The girl was going places.

Assuming she, as well as any of them, made it out of all of this alive. Which was not a certainty.

He walked up to the porch of the _Publick,_ and cleared his throat. Nat turned to look at him.

"Hi there, Mr. Ghoul!" She half-shouted. He flinched, and gestured for her to lower the volume. "Oh, sorry. I was using my 'newsgirl' voice, wasn't I?" She asked.

"Little bit." Zinn said.

"What can I do for you? Would you like an early copy of tomorrow's paper?" Nat asked. "I think that Sis and Jethro are printing it out right now!"

"No thanks, Nat. But I would like a moment to speak with your sister, if at all possible. I heard that she got in late last night?" Zinn asked.

"Yeah, she did…" Nat said. "I'm glad. Though I think that she's headed back out to the Castle in about two days. It's like I barely get to see her…" She said, somewhat sadly. Zinn offered a smile.

"It's going to be okay, you know." He said. "Piper is a tough gal. And she's smart. So hang in there, and before you know it she's gonna be back here and things won't be as crazy." He clapped her on the shoulder supportively, and then walked inside the offices of the _Publick._

Piper was at her desk in the back corner of the first floor, clacking away on a typewriter. She'd only recently received the thing: roughly two weeks ago, or about a month after the fall of the Atom Cats garage (which most people were marking as the "start" of the Quincy Insurgency), there'd been a care package of things sent to Diamond City from the Castle. Mostly it was medical supplies and food. But amidst all of the essentials, Piper had received a small bundle. When she'd opened it up, there was that typewriter as well as at least a year's supply of ink. Attached was a handwritten note.

 _Stay golden, Piper._

 _-N._

Needless to say, the quality of the paper seriously improved and the time of production was greatly reduced compared to before.

Zinn graciously knocked on the door.

"Yeah?" Piper asked, not turning around.

"Figured I might stop by here, seeing as how the free press is the only place an honest lawyer can stop by these days." Zinn offered.

Piper sighed, and swiveled around in her chair. She crossed one leg over the other, and cross her arms over her chest.

"Flattery isn't going to get you a favorable write-up in the paper, Zinn." She said. Even from halfway across the building, Zinn could see that there were bags forming under her eyes.

"When was the last time that you slept more than two hours at a time?" Zinn asked.

"I'm _fine,_ Zinn." Piper said.

"Don't look it."

"Well, that's a _wonderful_ thing to say to a woman, isn't it?" Piper asked. She then winced, and rubbed her shoulder. She glanced underneath her coat, and then groaned in disappointment. "Jethro! I need help again!"

There was a groan, and coming from the other room walked the old man. Jethro had been in the Minutemen up until shortly before the signing of the Commonwealth Accords, and he was now enjoying a much less stressful (and better paying, he'd joked) job as both mechanic for "Baby" as well as municipal reporter (at least that was the title that Piper had bestowed on him).

"Shoulder acting up again, Miss Piper?" Jethro asked.

"Yeah. Got anything?" Piper asked.

"A few things." Jethro muttered. He walked over to the kitchen counter, and rustled through the cupboads until he found a doctor's bag. He then walked over towards Piper, who had taken her coat off to reveal her sleeveless tank top.

"Jesus, Piper." Zinn muttered.

There was a patchwork of gauze and ace wrap bandage wrapped around her upper right shoulder. It was bleeding through, so whatever it was that had happened was clearly serious. Gently, Jethro undid the bandages, and then began to pour alcohol onto the wound. Piper hissed in pain, but said nothing. And from there, Jethro began rustling through the doctor's bag.

"Got some Med-X to help prevent infection, but we're running a little low on Stimpak medicine."

"Just give me some Med-X. I'll set the bottle down by the desk as I work."

Jethro looked over at her, and raised an eyebrow.

"You're only supposed to take one a day."

Piper glared.

"Dr. Sun is _nuts_ if he thinks I'm only taking one Med-X a day for fucking _shrapnel_ in my shoulder, Jethro. I'm tired and I'm _hurt._ And until the que for surgeries opens up, the best I can get is pills. Now gimme."

Sighing, Jethro handed her three pills. Piper popped one right away, and then set the other two on the desk next to her. She downed it with a glass of water, and then turned over towards Zinn.

"Probably should have looked away, Zinn. Rude to look at a woman undress."

"I've seen worse." Zinn said. And then he frowned. "You're awfully jumpy, Piper." And then he shrugged. "And I can't imagine that that shrapnel wound is something that the General knows about."

"Maybe you should mind your own business." Piper said, glaring. Zinn wasn't cowed.

"And maybe you shouldn't keep sticking your head in warzones, Piper.' He fired back. "Your sister is worried sick about you, and I imagine that that General fellow would hit the roof if he knew that someone he cared deeply about went and got herself banged up like that."

"Blue doesn't need to know. He's got enough to worry about."

"So you're just not going to tell him? Yeah, that will end well."

"Okay, did you just come here to lecture me?" Piper snapped. "Because I don't have the time, Zinn."

"Originally, I _was_ coming here to ask you what's going on in the world because you aren't here that often since the fall of the Garage, but now that I see you like this my curiosity makes me _really_ want to know what's going on in the world. So spill it. Because hanging onto this stuff is gonna chew you up."

Piper's frown softened slightly. And then she looked at the ground.

"Bomb went off at Jamaica Plain."

"Yeah? I heard the fighting there is pretty bad." Zinn asked.

"It's terrible." Piper said. "Complete stalemate. And not from lack of trying. We've got the technical advantage but…god, they've got the numbers. And they're _crazy._ " She looked Zinn in the eye. "I was interviewing a soldier in the middle of a battlefield, as a medic was trying to tend to a few of the fallen. There was this one Quincy boy lying on the ground, dying I think. And then the medic walked over to him to help him. As soon as he got close…" She closed her eyes. "The Quincy boy was hiding a grenade under his leg. Took him and the medic with it. The soldier I was interviewing managed to shield me from most of the blast but…not all of it."

Zinn was silent.

"That's war, Piper." He said. "It ain't clean, that's for sure. And especially when you got an enemy that hates you as bad as they hate you all."

"I just don't get it." Piper admitted. And then she sighed again. "It's been about a month and a half, and both nothing and everything has happened. I haven't seen Blue since I left the Castle the day that the Brotherhood left the Commonwealth. It's like…it's like everything burst forth from a dam or something. And I've lost count of how many times I've had to hear explosions or gunfire or screams and shouts. Nothing's been gained, and just…I wonder how he's handling it all. I hope he is." She looked out the window.

"Who, the General?" Zinn asked. "He's handling it the best he can, I'm sure. After all, he was a member of the old United States Army back before the Great War. Captain, I think."

"How…how do you know that?" Piper asked.

"Some might call me a snoop, but I prefer _historian._ " Zinn said. "Did some searching. Found an old military archive database and searched it: a 'Nathanael Greene' served in the New England Commonwealth about two hundred years ago. He was supposed to make a speech at some veteran's dinner the night that the bombs ended up falling. He's no stranger to war, Piper. Probably a little tired of it, though."

"I'm tired of it and this is my first one." Piper said. She then turned to look at Zinn. "What did you come here to ask me about, though? Because I know that you wanted more than just to know how the war is going."

"I wanted to know if the _Publick_ is covering the trial."

Piper groaned and rubbed her eyes.

" _God,_ Zinn. I don't know. I can't, because I'm busy with war reporting. I have to leave tomorrow to go visit Outpost Zimonja because they're about to deploy their first group of soldiers down to the Castle. And then after that I have to travel to Bunker Hill and get a connecting caravan out to The Slog, because there's a story or two to be written there as well. And I can't have Jethro do it, because he's busy covering everything else in the city."

"Piper…" Zinn said. He took a step forward, and then stopped. Technically, Piper hadn't invited him inside. "…What _else_ will there be in the city when the trial finally begins? What will people be talking about at the Dugout? What will the word on the street be? We've got about 50 people who are charged with crimes ranging from reckless endangerment to kidnapping to murder _with depraved indifference to human life_! What _else_ could Jethro write about that people would even wish to read?"

Piper was silent.

"Why do you want us covering this, Zinn?" Piper asked. "What's in it for you?"

"For starters?" Zinn asked. As soon as Piper nodded, he spoke again. "Well, for starters, maybe the idea that this is a matter of public interest. No matter which way this trial goes, it's gonna be important to have someone covering it all. And not slanted one way or the other. I can't be reliable, because I'm naturally going to be defensive of my clients. And the prosecutor lady can't be partial, because she's naturally trying to prove that my clients are guilty. There is a golden mean that _can_ exist."

"But…Zinn…" Piper said. "The Institute is _guilty._ There's no getting around that."

"And maybe so." Zinn said. "But that doesn't mean that the first instinct we should all have is to line every last one of them up against a wall and shoot 'em. The General and I come from a time when that was pretty close to reality, so I think I'd rather avoid repeating that."

Piper was quiet for a moment. And then she looked Zinn in the eye.

"The _Publick_ will be there tomorrow to hear the preliminary hearings."

"Thank you, Miss Wright." Zinn said. He turned around to leave.

"Zinn?"

He turned back to face her.

"What is it, Piper?"

"I want you to know something." Piper crossed her arms. "I know that you and Horatio Zwicky are good men. And I know that you're taking this job because no one else will and because I know what kind of world you and Blue and the others are trying to build. And I will always respect that. But off the record?" She sighed. "I spent a good chunk of my adult life trying to fight this monstrosity, and even got briefly banned from my home because of one of their synth infiltrators didn't like me."

Her look was positively withering.

"The idea that any of them could walk away from all that they've done without facing punishment makes me physically ill."

Zinn nodded.

"Good night, miss Wright." He tipped his fedora, and walked out the door.

…

It was getting close to the end of the day as he returned to the schoolhouse. He heard something in the kitchen: it was most likely Edna working on dinner. He walked in himself, and cleared his throat to get her attention.

"Oh, hello Mr. Zinn! Did your day go well?" Edna asked.

"Good enough, Edna. Good enough. Where's your husband? Upstairs?"

"Yes. He is busy working on your case. Tomorrow is the big day, is it not?"

"One of many, but yes. It's a big day."

Zinn reached into the cabinet, and pulled out what he was looking for. He then sighed, and walked up the stairs.

Horatio Zwicky was sitting at his teachers' desk, poring over countless documents. On the blackboard behind him, there were countless notes and annotations etched in chalk as well as sheets of looseleaf that were pinned onto the wall. It was a smorgasbord of thought and plans. He looked positively exhausted.

"How did it go?" He asked Zinn.

"The _Publick_ will be there. Probably not Piper, though. She's pretty burned about the Institute in general, and I think that the stress of being a war reporter is starting to get to her." Zinn said.

"That doesn't really surprise me." Zwicky said. He sighed. "Oh, merciful heavens. What have we gotten ourselves into?"

"A good old scrap, my friend." Zinn said. He sat down across the desk from Zwicky, and looked his friend over. Bags under the eyes, clothes rustled: he looked utterly spent. "You should stop for the night. The preliminary hearing is not the big part. The big part is the actual trial itself, which might not happen for a week or so. We've got a lot of people to get through, after all."

"Are you sure that we can do what you planned?"

"Safe bet." Zinn said. "If nothing else, let me make the argument when the time comes. I've got a little more legal experience than you, if only for the fact that I spent at _least_ three decades reading legal books while I was hiding out in the bombed out ruins of Yale."

"…Yale?"

"Forget it, before your time." Zinn sighed. And then he held up what he'd brought up from the kitchen. It was a bottle of unopened wine, some of the best stuff that had been found in the Commonwealth.

"Take some. Think of it as a cheers."

"Sure…" Zwicky said, uncorking the bottle and taking a sip. "But what are we giving a cheer for?"

"A drink before the war."

"But…the war already started. It's been raging in Jamaica Plain for a while now." Zwicky said, somewhat confused. Zinn just shook his head.

"That's _their_ war."

He tapped the sheets of paper on the desk, as well as the official letterhead pamphlet delivered to their office a few weeks ago. On the top was printed lettering:

 _The People vs. The Institute, et al_

"This is _our_ war."

A/N: And I return! It's a sort of sequel to _Zugzwang,_ but more of an interquel between _Zugzwang_ and my as-of-yet-unnamed conclusion to what I now call "The Commonwealth Trilogy." Though to be fair, I think that this story is worthwhile to add as an official piece as well. Think of it as, I dunno, "The Commonwealth Tetralogy." This story is all about the trial of the Institute Remnant, something that was alluded to in both _Détente_ as well as _Zugzwang._ And I have continued my streak of conveniently smarty-pants titles with the title for this one. It _does_ mean something that relates to the point of this story, I promise you.

One last note: other than Piper and _maybe_ another companion, don't expect a lot of other characters from Fallout 4 to pop in. They're off fighting a war, after all. But I promise that we'll get to them. All in good time. All in good time…

See you next time!


	2. Attorneys Are Always Adversarial

A/N: I own nothing except the laptop I wrote this story on.

It was going to be another terrible morning. Horatio Zwicky simply knew that in his bones. As he sat at the desk, taking a sip of coffee from an old mug, he looked at the stack of papers on his desk and then at the snoring figure in the corner. Zinn had fallen asleep on the chair some time into the night, and Zwicky hadn't had the heart to wake him up. Instead, he had simply gotten him a blanket, and then gone to bed himself. Of course, Edna woke him up earlier than normal so that he would be prepared for the meeting with the accused. For the past few weeks, he had been dreading that moment. He had never met the people that he was tasked to defend.

And he wasn't sure that he really wanted to. One reason why he'd been so content working as a schoolteacher was because it gave him a buffer against the darker aspects of the Commonwealth. Here, as Mr. Zwicky of the Diamond City schoolhouse, he was simply an old man who was tasked with the education of the future. He didn't need to fire a gun. He didn't need to get involved in brutality or the messy politics that were beginning to rear their head. And he didn't need to fight in a war.

But meeting with the Institute meant that he was complicit all the same. Because these were people who _had_ no compunctions about what they did and what they were trying to do. These were people who had committed horrible crimes. These were people who were only away from a firing squad because of the machinations and mercy of the man in the Castle.

And Horatio Zwicky was scheduled to defend these people. Get the jury to believe that some (if not all) of them deserved to walk away from their crimes. With no restitution. Where was the justice in that?

He heard a grumbling noise, and saw that Zinn had started to stir. It didn't take long for the old ghoul to blearily open his eyes.

"Sleep well?" Zwicky offered, hoping that Zinn's penchant for conversation might take his mind off of his ill stomach. The ghoul gave what he assumed was a smirk.

"About as well as these old bones can sleep when sitting on a lumpy old chair." He said. Zinn looked around. "Edna downstairs?"

"Yes. She's making coffee and eggs, if you're hungry." Zwicky said. "I'm not, to be honest."

"Nervous, are we?" Zinn asked. Zwicky frowned.

"What gives you that impression?"

"The fact that you're tenser than a raider coming down from his first Psycho bender." Zinn said. "Your shoulders are all hunched, and I bet if I sneezed you'd have a heart attack."

"Can you blame me?" Zinn asked, somewhat testily. Zinn chuckled.

"No, not really. You don't exactly strike me as the sort that gets involved in these kind of things. Teaching kids their math tables and writing essays on the history of Diamond City is a far cry from trying to tell a jury of your peers that men and women accused of great crimes ought to go free."

"And do you think that I'm not up for the job?" Zwicky asked.

"Even if I didn't, it's not like there's anyone else who _can_ do it." Zinn said. "So I hope you don't mind me saying that we need to stop wallowing in anxiety and just get the job done. We're supposed to head to the Diamond City lock-up to talk to our clients today, you know."

"And how many of them are there?" Zwicky asked.

"…About fifty of them."

"I'm going to need more coffee, Zinn."

…

"Ah, a beautiful day. Not at all indicative of what's to come." Zinn said as the rain fell in the sky. Somewhere in the distance, a thunderclap could be heard. "Sounds like a radstorm is brewing. Might need to stay indoors for a while."

Zwicky tried not to listen to his partner, but the alternative was looking around town and seeing the furtive glances that people were sending their way. On their lonesome, one could mistake Zwicky or Zinn going about their business. However, when the two of them together, there was no question in the minds of citizens that they were discussing the trial. And discussing the trial meant that they were going to possibly save some of the people in the Institute. And _that_ was something that simply could not be abided. At least right now.

"People seem awful skittish today." Zinn remarked, reaching into his pocket for a cigarette and a lighter. Zwicky made eye contact with one citizen standing outside her house. She glared at him, and then shut her door.

"I can't imagine why…" He mumbled. "Do you…do you think that after all this is done, they won't be as touchy?"

"Depends, Zwick." Zinn said.

"Depends on what?"

"Depends on if we give them the verdict they want."

"Oh, _that's_ reassuring." Zwicky said, tugging at his shirt collar as he spoke.

After a few more moments of walking in the rain, they reached the front door to the Diamond City lockup. One of the guardsmen, clad in his city armor, turned to face them.

"Good morning, gentlemen." He said somewhat gruffly. "What business do you have here?"

"We're here to speak with the defendants." Zinn said. The guard nodded grimly.

"Right. The mayor is already in the main room, just inside the door. Apparently that officer of the court lady is there with him."

"You mean the prosecutor?" Zinn asked.

"Oh, yeah. That was the word that the mayor used." The guard said. "Yeah, she's in there too."

"What are they doing?" Zwicky asked.

"My guess is waiting for you, Mr. Zwicky." The guard said.

"This prosecutor lady…you get a good look at her?" Zinn asked. "We know that she's form Vault 81, but don't really know anything more about her."

"I didn't get much a good look at her face, to be fair." The guard said. "Took one look and had to look away. Sent a shiver down my spine." He turned to open the door.

"Hardly the kind of way to talk about a woman, don't you think?" Zinn asked, not bothering to hide his disdain. The guard opened the door, and it groaned with a combination of rust and age.

"I don't think you quite figure what I mean." The guard said, gesturing for them to enter.

…

They saw her first.

She was dressed in the typical Vault apparel, with the blue jumpsuit and yellow stripes down the side. A very large **81** was emblazoned on her back. And yet from there it was clear that she'd added a little bit to her typical apparel.

"Don't think those boots are Vault-approved." Zinn muttered under his breath.

She turned around to look at them.

And Horatio Zwicky figured out what the guard meant.

"Ah, Zinn and Zwicky! Good of the two of you to make it." Mayor Willie Pitt said. "This right here is Clarice Darrow. She comes from Vault 81. She'll be, ah, on the other side of the bench from you two."

She held out her hand.

"How do you do?" She asked.

Her voice sent a shiver down Zwicky's spine. She'd barely raised her voice and he could already tell that she had a backbone made of steel. She had blonde hair, blue eyes, and even in a pleasant situation had an air of power radiating off of her. Whoever this woman was, she was not to mess with.

"Charmed." Zinn said, extending his hand. She shook it, prompting the ghoul to chuckle. "Well, I'll be. Thought that most vaulties would run screaming at the sight of me."

"I'm not most vaulties, Mr. Zinn." Darrow said. "I don't care about the state of your skin; I care about the state of your ethics. Of your mind. And your ability to make a coherent argument."

"Might have to try your luck elsewhere on that last one." Zinn offered.

She didn't smile.

And then she turned to Zwicky.

"Mr. Zwicky, I presume?" She asked. She extended her hand. "I at least know that my opposition is not completely without credentials: I have yet to meet a dishonest schoolteacher."

Zwicky gulped, but nodded.

"Y-yes, ma'am."

"Now that we've exchanged pleasantries, let's get down to brass tacks." Mayor Pitt said. "I figure it's only fair that the defense attorneys get a chance to discuss things with their clients before we all meet up in my office to discuss the particulars of this case."

"Who is the presiding judge of this case?" Darrow asked.

"That would be Vadim." Pitt said.

"I don't recognize that name, and I've looked at the entire roster of the city officials. What is his title?" Darrow asked.

"He's the barkeep over at the Dugout." Zinn said. At the sound of this, Darrow seemed to wrinkle her nose.

"And there was…no other option?" She asked.

"Hey, Diamond City isn't that much more civilized than the old American west. Sometimes the most reputable citizen in those towns was the guy that poured you a drink." Zinn said.

"I'm not sure whether that says something about the way things were back then, or how little things have changed now." Darrow said. There was a trace of iciness in her tone. She turned to the mayor. "If that's everything, I think that I will take my leave. I understand that the preliminary meeting with the judge is in an hour?"

"That's right." Pitt said. "I'll keep a drink cold for you."

"I don't. But thank you nonetheless." Darrow said. She turned towards the others. "Mr. Zinn. Mr. Zwicky." She gave a little nod, and then walked out the door. As soon as the door had closed behind her, Zinn let out a whistle.

"Managed to find us a mama Deathclaw, huh Willie?"

"Vault 81 is considered the most impartial area in the Commonwealth, as agreed upon by the Minutemen and the Brotherhood when they wrote the Commonwealth Accords." Pitt said. "I won't deny that she's got some fangs."

"Got some fangs, I'll say." Zinn said. "I've known nuclear winters that were warmer than her. Where did you _find_ that lady?"

"You would not believe what I have turned away." Pitt replied. He lit a cigar, and started to puff away. "I'm gonna head back to the office. You two should head on inside and talk to your clients."

"How do they look?" Zinn asked.

"They're being fed and watered, if that's what you're asking." Pitt said.

" _How_ do they _look?_ " Zinn replied, a little more gruffly this time. Zwicky felt a ball in his stomach, and hoped that it was just food poisoning, and not fear. Pitt stopped walking towards the door, made a pointed effort in turning around, and cocked his head to the side.

"I like you, Zinn." He said, walking towards the ghoul. Zwicky noticed that he'd gotten awfully quiet. "More than I like a lot of people. Which is why I'm gonna let that little innuendo slide by the wayside. I might be representing the state in this case, in that my city is the state that is asking Miss Darrow to prosecute your clients, but make no mistake: if there is one thing that I will never tolerate, it is brutality to my prisoners. And I don't particularly like it being suggested otherwise. _Am I clear?_ "

"Crystal, kid." Zinn said, a lazy smirk on his face. "Just wanted to see how's your backbone, is all."

"I'm the mayor of the largest city in the Commonwealth, the biggest prize that a Quincy boy could ever hope to snatch." Pitt said. "Every morning I get a casualty report on the radio, on a frequency that only I get to hear because I've got a direct line to the Castle. I know things. The sheer tonnage of what I know that you don't could stop a herd of Brahmin in their tracks, Zinn. So, yeah, I think I have a backbone. _Just a little bit._ "

He made a friendly gesture, not breaking his stare at Zinn, and then walked out the door. Zwicky and Zinn stared after him for a moment, and then looked at each other.

"Sometimes I forget that I'm ten times older than that kid." Zinn said with a wry grin. Zwicky just sighed, shuddering a little bit as he did so.

"Let's just go meet our clients." Zwicky said.

…

They were a miserable looking bunch. The majority of the cells were filled, with about five to a cell if not more. It didn't smell too bad, which was a sign that Pitt wasn't lying when he said that the Institute Remnant was being treated…well, about as well as they could be treated, considering the circumstances. Slowly, the crowd of people all turned in their cells to look at the two men in the center of the room. Some of those that were sitting stood up. The kids took to hiding behind their parents. Those that didn't have parents simply stood upright and out in the open. There was an awkward silence in the air.

Zwicky flitted his eyes back and forth from one side of the room to the other. They barely looked human. Just a bunch of miserable wretches. But there were some…some of them in the room barely qualified for humanity for entirely different and far darker reasons.

Zinn spoke up.

"I'm Zinn." He said. "This here is my partner, Horatio Zwicky. We're a pair of lawyers. We're assigned to defend you people." He looked around, seemingly drinking in the silence. "C'mon, there's gotta be some people in here who knows what it means to be a lawyer. There are rocket scientists, nuclear physicists, biotech, and all sorts of other science-y positions, and you're telling me not one of you knows what a lawyer does?"

Dead silence.

He smirked a little bit.

"Guess evil lawyer jokes survived the dropping of the bombs, if nothing else." He pulled out another cigarette, and lit it. Zwicky noticed a few of the parents shielding their children from the flame of Zwicky's lighter. It occurred to the old schoolteacher that perhaps some of the people in the room had never even _seen_ a lighter before. Taking in the silence, Zinn continued.

"Seeing as how none of you mugs want to talk, allow me to fill in the silence for you. Every last one of you stands accused of crimes. I could list every last one of them, but if I did that we'd be here all night. And in about an hour my partner Zwicky and I have to go to the mayor's office to discuss the ins and outs of this trial. And within a week or so, you're gonna be in front of a judge, listening to the two of us arguing your case in front of a jury of your peers and-"

"This is all a farce."

The voice cut through the silence, and everyone turned to see it. Zwicky saw that it was an Institute scientist. If his age was any indication, then he was probably one of the heads of the place. Or, whatever they considered the leader. Zwicky heard that the original leader of the Institute had been killed in the blast that destroyed the original compound, so he had no idea what the command structure of the Institute was.

The scientist who spoke was bald, had a mustache of sorts, and a piercingly cold stare. That plus his darker scientist cloak made him look a thoroughly uninviting figure.

Zinn turned to face the man, and walked up to him.

"Farce, huh?" He asked. "What makes you say that, chief?"

"First of all, we are not a part of the Commonwealth so their laws don't apply to us. Secondly, we were not told what we were being charged of, and haven't been given a chance to see our accusers. Thirdly, there is no evidence. Fourthly, we are being subjected to wasteland 'law,' if such a thing exists. Fifthly, we're being led by a _ghoul!_ "

Zinn stared at him for a moment, a blank expression on his face. Zwicky tensed up. Zinn looked like he was going to hit the man.

Instead, Zinn let out a breath, blowing a cloud of smoke in the scientist's face. The man started coughing violently, so bad that he had to put his hands on his knees.

"How about that? The sheltered scientist can't take the natural world." Zinn said. He knelt down on one knee, and looked the wheezing scientist in the eye. "You got a name, big shot?"

"That's…Dr. Ayo." Another man said. He was a young fellow, with a bright pair of eyes and a shock of blonde hair on his head.

"And who are you, sunshine?" Zinn asked, not looking in the direction of the other speaker.

"Dr. Clayton Holdren. I run…er, ran BioSciences in the Institute." The man said. Zinn nodded, his eyes still on Dr. Ayo, who was now glaring back at the ghoul while regaining his breath.

"Well, _Dr._ Ayo, for someone who's as smart as you suppose to be, you're not terribly bright. Let me let you in on a secret: if we were running things by the way of the Wasteland, every last one of you would be lined up against the Wall and _shot._ And then the ones who did it go home and sleep like a baby. Maybe for some of the worst of ya, they'd throw you to the Muties. You ever stop to see what you all created? Big, green, mean, and very much predisposed to munching human bones?" He nodded. "Yeah, news flash: this _ghoul_ right here, along with my friend over there, are the only thing that stands between you and an unmarked grave. So get that through your obstinate fucking head. We clear?"

Dr. Ayo didn't respond, but he gave the briefest of nods. Zinn smiled, and clapped the man on the shoulder.

"Nice that we could see things on the same page." He said, with a sickly-sweet smile. He stood back up, and started pacing while addressing the rest of the crowd. "I don't really care if half of you hate me because my skin is rotting and tufts of my hair are held together by the grace of God. I don't care about what you think of my partner. Or of the Commonwealth. Or of just about anything. So think on this: I am the most honest man in the Commonwealth. And I will make sure that justice is going to be served. You will have your fair day in court. And I will exhaust every last gasp of my energy to defend you. Because, unlike whatever it was that you were doing underneath the crust of the earth, I don't screw people over." He looked over at Zwicky. "Let's get going. Give these people some time to think about what might happen the next time one of their _dear leaders_ gets it in their head to insult me for being a ghoul."

He started walking out the door, and Zwicky only just managed to gather his nerve and follow his partner out the door as well. He tried not to think about the countless pairs of eyes that seemed to be staring holes into the back of his head as he left.

…

"So…what do you think of that lot?" Zwicky asked.

Zinn was sitting next to him at the counter of the noodle shop. Zinn had brought with him a bottle of something strong, and he took a swig from it before speaking.

"Felt my teeth buzzing just at the sight of them, Zwick."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Zwicky asked. At this, Zinn turned to him and lowered his voice.

"Horatio, we're being asked to defend a gamut of people here. And I've been around a lot longer than you, so I know how to read people. I know who's got a good heart, and who doesn't. Think of it as a trick of being as long-lived as I am. And believe me when I tell you this: there were evil fucking people in that room."

"Then why are we doing this?" Zwicky asked, lowering his own voice to a panicked whisper. Zinn shrugged.

"Don't really know, Zwick." He said. "If I told you that we were doing it because the pay is good and because no matter what the outcome, the people will love and respect the two of us, would you believe me?"

"No." Zwicky said. He felt his stomach doing leapfrogs again, and he tried not to think about the extra work that he was going to have to do tonight to catch up on essays that he needed to grade before he went to sleep.

"Wise." Zinn said. He sighed, and took another sip. "Take that Ayo guy. I don't need a doctorate to tell me that he's got a couple of irradiated skeletons in his closet. But then I look over at the other kid who spoke up, and I can tell that while he's a big shot he probably had his head in the clouds while the really bad shit happened. So does that make him as culpable, or do we just argue it down to semantics? And then there are the kids that were hiding behind mommy and daddy." He turned and looked over at Zwicky. "I might be a cynical bastard who's managed to survive this long because he was always looking over his shoulder, but even I have to call bullshit on the idea that kids are complicit in the things that the Institute."

"I wish I'd never said yes to this." Zwicky muttered.

"Weep not for roads untraveled, as the old saying goes." Zinn said. "We said yes, here we are, and we're committed to finishing it. And that's what we gotta do. And the chips fall where they may." He took a spoonful of noodles, and noisily slurped them down. "In the meantime, we've got a meeting with the mayor and whatshername."

"Clarice Darrow."

"Something about that name…" Zinn muttered. "Anyway. Let's get up to Mayor McCheese's quarters."

"And what's our big plan?" Zwicky asked, as they walked over to the platform. Zinn pressed a button, and soon the aging metal framework began to creak up to the top.

"Same thing that all lawyers do, Zwick." Zinn said. "First rule? Pound on the laws. When they don't have the law, they pound on the facts. And when they don't have the facts or the law, they pound on the table."

"Point being?"

The elevator stopped. Zwicky turned to face his partner.

"We're gonna pound on the fucking table."

…

A/N: Another chapter down! Sorry for the delay: graduate studies are pretty time-consuming and I've been chugging along as best as I can. But I hope you enjoyed this one! As a fun bit of trivia, I've been wondering what exactly Zinn sounds like in my head. And it's hit me: he sounds like a raspier (if that's possible) Geralt of Rivia.

See you next time!


	3. Fishing for Jurymen

A/N: I own nothing except the laptop I wrote this story on.

Horatio Zwicky had never been in the mayor's office before. And yet when he entered the place, he was somewhat blown away: it seemed as though the entire room was covered in mountains of paper. They were all meticulously and carefully arranged within themselves, but Zwicky knew that if he so much as sneezed, then there might be a hurricane of paperwork in the place…and a very angry mayor to deal with as well. Some of them were even taller than he was, which begged the question as to what on earth the mayor was planning on doing with piles of papers that size.

Zwicky made a point to gently close the door behind him, and then turned to face the mayor and Miss (or was it Mrs.? She hadn't really clarified) Darrow.

"All we're waiting on is the man in charge of things." Mayor Pitt said.

"Yes, you mentioned him." Clarice Darrow said. "Is he going to be a reliable character for this trial?"

"Vadim is one of the most trustworthy and fair guys that I know." Pitt said. "It's partly because of him that things are so smooth in this city, especially in the aftermath of my election."

"Were things that bad?" Darrow asked.

"Well, when the city discovers that the mayor was actually a Synth interloper, then yes I would imagine that things would be a little hectic." Zinn said. "Pitt here needed a couple of high-ranking officials in the city to back him, and Vadim carries a little bit of sway with the general public."

"In what regard?" Darrow asked.

 **WHAM.**

The door was blasted open, the force of which causing everyone to jump visibly in shock. Zwicky noticed that Darrow hadn't flinched. The stacks of paper all seemed to leap into the air, and yet by some sort of miracle none of them seemed to fall over and mix in with one another. They turned in the direction of the veritable explosion, and saw the man of the hour.

"Nice…of you to join us, Vadim." Pitt said with a weak smile.

"Comrade Willie!" Vadim said, spreading his arms out wide like he was gesturing for a hug. "Is great to see you!" He turned to see the others. "Call me Vadim, everyone does. I am bartender at the Dugout Inn, and also apparently am judge now too."

"Do you have…any legal training?" Darrow asked.

"Bah! I need no training except for this here." Vadim pointed to his head. "Am capable of making sound decisions when asked to settle dispute."

"So…you've never brokered a dispute?" Darrow asked.

"Am not sure what 'brokered a dispute' means, but I have pulled apart many a drunkard from bashing friend's head in. Which reminds me! Last week I was serving a group of mercenaries-"

"Vadim, as much as I love to hear your stories, now really isn't the time or the place." Pitt said, gesturing with his hand for Vadim to settle down. "We're actually here to discuss the opening aspects of the trial, as well as the opening days."

"Ah! Of course. Sorry, comrade, but I tend to get excited when with old friends. I will be more judge-like in future, promise."

"Mr. Vadim…" Darrow said, wrinkling her nose. "What is your opinion on the legality of the experiments of the Institute, as well as their right to claim that they were operating outside of the sovereignty of the Commonwealth?"

Vadim stared at her like she'd grown another neck.

Making a disgusted noise in the back of her throat, Darrow turned towards Pitt.

"Mayor Pitt, I know that your measures over the last few months have caused a massive turnaround in the productivity of the city of Goodneighbor, but I seriously question the capacities of this man to serve as a representative of the peop-"

"Hey, how hard can it be?" Vadim suddenly interrupted. "All I do is keep order, tell jury to make good and reasoned decision. Make sure defense and prose…prosecution do not engage in tricks. Establish precedent if necessary. And leave it to people to decide if Institute Remnant guilty or not. I simply mediate dispute. Would not be fair to decide myself."

There was a pause. Darrow looked momentarily flustered. But then she recovered in lightning-quick speed.

"…Yes. That is a suitable definition of what you will need to do as the judge, yes."

"Vadim, how the hell do you know all of that without it having been explained to you? There hasn't been a proper legal system in the United States in over 200 years." Zinn asked.

Vadim shrugged.

"I read, comrade."

"Well then!" Pitt said, clapping his hands together. He winced, thinking the force of air might cause the paper piles to fall over. When he saw that they hadn't, he breathed a sigh of relief. He turned towards the others. "I have set a preliminary hearing for tonight, in order to enter pleas and all that sort of thing. Vadim is going to be there, as well as a reporter for the _Publick Occurrences._ From there, we're good to begin the trial by jury. I've pre-selected the jury and-"

"I object." Zinn said. "You can't just go and pre-pick a jury for us. We have a right to face and select jurors, you know."

Pitt looked over at Darrow. She just shrugged.

"Mr. Zinn is correct, Mr. Mayor. It's the right of both the prosecution to dismiss someone who they might think is going to be a bad juror."

"Is ridiculous!" Vadim said. "What stops lawyers from going on endless loop?"

"There _are_ limits to the number of jurors that lawyers can dismiss." Darrow said. "We'd simply have to agree to a number of strikes. After that, whomever is left is going to be admitted no matter what objections the prosecution or the defense might have towards the juror."

"Fair enough." Pitt said. "There aren't _that_ many people in Diamond City, and yet there should be a decent number of strikes." He tapped his chin in thought. "Perhaps…three strikes apiece? Any objections?"

"Three is good number." Vadim said.

"I have no complaints." Darrow said.

"Neither does the defense." Zinn said.

"Splendid." Pitt said. "The plan is to have the preliminary hearing to enter a plea tonight at dusk. Hopefully in doing so that will have the majority of the town asleep so that we don't have a veritable mob. Tomorrow, thanks to your objections, we're going to have an entire day to selecting jurors. I'll have Geneva draft up a call to service document for every citizen of Diamond City, and we'll go from there." He looked around. "Well, I'll see you all by the base of the Wall at…let's go with 9:30. Sun's been setting at about 9:25 every day, so this is gonna be pretty dark. Shouldn't be a very large group of people to watch the pre-trial stuff, anyway."

With that, he dismissed the group to head out towards the city.

…

Days like today weren't always the best. It had been muggy and hot, so that meant that he needed to stay indoors a little bit more than necessary, if only because his body just couldn't handle it the way that it might have once in its youth. But then again, the fact that he'd managed to go from a farmer on the outskirts of the Commonwealth to a well-and-true citizen of Diamond City in his old age meant that he was quite a bit out of the norm.

Jethro yawned, and shook his head. "Baby" had been relatively smooth today, which gave him a little bit more time to work on a few of the articles that he'd been working on for a few hours or so. While Miss Piper was out in the Commonwealth covering the "big" stories, he'd been hired to deal with the more municipal stories of Diamond City. He didn't mind the work – it was a damn sight less dangerous or frantic than his time as a Minuteman, for example – and he certainly didn't mind being around to help Miss Piper or her sister Little Nat around the house.

He'd gotten rather lucky on how he'd gotten the job in the first place. When they'd been having that big ol' peace talk discussion, he'd been laid up at the _Publick_ , back when it was a little bit smaller of a building than it was today. And since he wasn't in any position to be shooting things during a peace talk, he decided to make himself useful as a handyman, which was his original job before he'd signed on to the Minutemen. And he'd displayed that handiness by fixing the printing press one day, when neither Miss Piper nor Little Nat had any idea as to what to do.

She'd hired him on the spot as their official mechanic.

From there, his job with the Wrights had only grown. First it was just being Baby's mechanic. Then it was building another room or two onto the _Publick_ building, turning it into a regular house with a printing office attached. And then it was as a sort of babysitter for Little Nat whenever Miss Piper had to go out and cover one of her big stories. And, finally, one day Miss Piper had noticed that he had been correcting some of Little Nat's spelling and writing when she'd gotten a funny look in her eye.

"Jethro, have you ever considered a job in print media?" Miss Piper asked.

And that was how he'd gone from being a little farmer to a reporter for the first working newspaper in the Commonwealth in over 200 years. And hell, it paid a damn sight better.

Of course, as he sat down out on the green nearby the Wall, he wondered if the raise in pay was worth the raise in hectic life around him.

There was a veritable crowd of people in front of him, even though he was sitting off to the side. There was an impromptu sort of podium and stage, where he assumed the judge of the trial was going to sit so that there was a sense of "authority" in this whole charade. There were two tables facing each other, one for the defense most likely and one for the prosecution. And then there was a benched-off area for the jury pool, as well as a bunch of chairs that had been brought out for public viewers of the trial as well. Right now, though, it seemed as though the only people out here were the lawyers involved in the trial as well as the judge…as well as a line of people that had been asked to serve as potential jurors.

Jethro had found himself, despite his age, remembering just about everyone in Diamond City in a very short time, which Miss Piper told him was a good trait for a municipal reporter. So as one person after the other took the stand, he knew just about everything to expect from there.

"State your name for the court, please?"

The ghoul lawyer was doing the talking right now. Apparently it was the defense that was going to vet this potential juror. Jethro saw Zwicky sitting at the defense table, frantically scribbling some notes down. To an untrained eye, it might look like he was taking notes on this proceeding. But Jethro was no fool: he knew that Zwicky had snuck a few of his students' essays to grade while he was working out here tonight.

"Doctor Genevieve Duff!" The good doctor in question said. She was sitting at what was no doubt going to be the witness table, where people were going to be arguing and questioned and all that. Jethro knew a little bit of history, but was a little fuzzy on the _how_ and _why_ things were the way they were back in the day. It struck the old man that everyone involved here might be making it up as they go along.

"And your profession?" Unwavering, slightly disengaged, and without a lick of warmth. Yeah, this ghoul had been around the bend.

"I'm the co-director of the Diamond City _Science!_ Center." Dr. Duff threw out her hands in excitement, verbalizing the stylized title of the building. A bright smile was on her face.

"Wonderful." The ghoul lawyer said. "Are you aware of the charges that have been brought against the Institute Remnant?"

"Oh, there's the talk of the town!" Dr. Duff said. Her smile faded. "A terrible thing, what the Institute did. Terrible."

Jethro noted that Vadim, the man that for some reason had been appointed the judge of this case, was currently sitting up on the judge's dais with his feet up on the desk. He was leaning back in his chair, and from the look of things it seemed as though the man was whittling. For all intents and purposes, the guy didn't seem to be paying any sort of attention to what was going on.

"Dr. Duff, you mention that you are, in fact, a doctor. What type of doctor are you?" The ghoul asked. Jethro made a note in his little notepad; he needed to find out what the name of the ghoul lawyer was. Perhaps he'd ask Zwicky.

"A science doctor! Not the kind of doctor that fixes things in you, like Doctor Sun. And not like those old doctors who taught. Though I guess I _do_ teach, I suppose!"

"…Thank you, Dr. Duff. What do you specialize in?"

"Biology!" Dr. Duff said. "I love learning the ins and outs of where life starts, and what makes us here! It's like a kind of magic to see what makes life take root, and I just love and treasure my chance to-"

"Thank you, Dr. Duff. You are dismissed."

Jethro noticed that Zwicky looked up from his notes, a slightly alarmed look in his eyes. Clearly that wasn't the thing that he would have done in that situation. The prosecutor lady, Miss Darrow, was currently sketching something in her notepad as well. She was wearing a pair of sharp-looking eyeglasses that made her look even smarter than she already was. Jethro wasn't the more learned man, but he knew when he was looking at someone who had a mind like a steel trap. That woman had one.

Dr. Duff seemed somewhat disappointed and yet relieved at the same time, and with that left the stand. Another woman in a lab coat took the stand.

"State your name for the court." Miss Darrow asked the woman.

"Professor Marie Scara."

"And are you aware of the charges placed against the Institute?"

"I am."

"What is your speciality, professor?"

"I specialize in robotics."

"Thank you, Professor Scara." Miss Darrow turned towards the judge. "We move to enter Professor Scara into the jury pool."

"Any objections from the defense?" Vadim asked, still focusing on his whittling and not on the proceedings. The ghoul lawyer cleared his throat.

"None, your honor."

"Noted." Vadim said. "Professor Scara, is my duty to inform you your job. For duration of trial, avoid discussing case with people. Render verdict with clear mind and objective feelings. Do not disrupt court proceedings. This fair?"

"I…suppose it is, Vadim." Professor Scara said. She seemed somewhat upset that she'd been selected.

"Good. Court dismisses witness."

Jethro took a note of Zwicky's reaction. He looked a little like a fish, his mouth opening and closing silently. Jethro didn't know much about lawyering, but even he could tell that Zwicky clearly didn't agree with his partner's interpretation of what was going on.

For the rest of the pre-trial hearing, it was more or less the same thing. Someone that Jethro recognized was brought up to the stand, and they were asked their name, their profession, and then if they were aware of what was going on with the Institute Remnant. And depending on who was doing the asking of questions, they were either dismissed or not. But as the night dragged on and the small crowd that had gathered to watch things was dwindling, Jethro noticed a few things. First, he noticed that the defense burned through all of their "dismissals" of candidates. And whenever the defense decided to dismiss someone, it was always the ghoul lawyer that made the decision to dismiss someone. Zwicky never actually dismissed anyone.

Meanwhile, Miss Darrow didn't dismiss a single candidate. She also never left her seat the entire time, even when she was asking questions of potential jurors. She'd simply scribble a few things in that massive ledger of hers, and then submit the candidate for jury consideration. It was a surprisingly quick process, and if Jethro didn't know any better he'd think that there was something going on that wasn't quite on the straight and narrow. But he wasn't a conspiracy theorist; the point of being a reporter was telling it like it was.

And yet, he still needed to give the people an observation. He wasn't quite as flashy as Miss Piper could be, but he trusted his ability to tell an accurate story of what was going on. So he opened up his notebook and began to jot down a few thoughts.

 _A noted difference in approach between prosecution and defense…_

…

He opened the door to the house wanting to collapse. It was late at night, and the late night summer heat was starting to get to him. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, and then placed his coat jacket on the hanger next to the door.

"Oh, dear! I did not hear you come in."

Zwicky sighed.

"Sorry to wake you up, honey. Zinn and I had a late night."

"I suppose so! Here, let me prepare some tea. That might help the two of you get to sleep. The trial starts tomorrow, no?"

"It does…" Zwicky grumbled. He then turned to Zinn, who had just entered the house behind him. "Hey, Edna dear, could you prepare the tea for us? I need to discuss something with Zinn."

"Of course, dear." Edna said, floating away towards the kitchen.

As soon as Zinn walked up the stairs, Zwicky walked up behind him and closed the door.

"It might have been about 200 years ago, but the last time I was mentioned that kind of sentence I had a major finger-waving coming my way." Zinn snarked, taking a seat on one of the chairs.

"Zinn, was it your goal to make every single reasonable person unavailable for the trial?" Zwicky asked. "How could you dismiss people like Dr. Duff from the jury? How could you let them place _Myrna_ on the jury? Or professor Scara?"

Zinn shrugged.

"Myrna isn't that bad."

"Isn't that bad? She is convinced that the mayor might be another Synth! There's no way that she doesn't vote against us!"

"It's possible." Zinn said. He seemed more interested in what was underneath his nail than what Zwicky was saying at the moment.

"And then…you didn't challenge a single one of Darrow's picks?"

"She didn't challenge any of ours."

Zwicky pinched the bridge of his nose again. And then he looked his partner in the eye.

"Zinn, are you trying to throw this trial right from the get-go? Because I have to say, I have no idea what you're going for right now."

Zinn closed his eyes from a moment, and then opened them.

"I'm doing it for the children, Zwicky."

"What?" Zwicky asked.

"I know that Scara and Myrna might be completely unreasonable. I know that they hate the Institute. But here's the thing: they're basing this off of a mindset that the Institute is nothing but monsters. But throughout this trial I'm going to show them that there were people who had literally _nothing_ to do with the evils that plagued the Commonwealth. If they weren't part of the jury, you know what they'd be doing? Sitting around town, spreading crap about the Institute kids and teens to the rest of the city. They'd be of no use to anything except stirring up fear. And distrust. And hate. We keep them on the jury? We force 'em to take a closer look. And they're stop seeing just the Institute. They'll start seeing the individuals in those lab coats. They'll see the frightened look in the eyes of kids and teens who don't know why everyone hates their parents. They'll see the heartbroken looks of people who realize that, even if they weren't aware, they were a part of a grand conspiracy and that they feel shame and they wish that they could take it back. I want them to see all of that. And in doing so, I'm not interested in reinforcing peoples' beliefs. I don't want Genevieve Duff on the jury because I already know that she has a kind and forgiving heart: I want Marie Scara on the jury because I want her to come to the same realization too. I want them all to realize that, when we get past the mythical shadow of the Institute…we'll see that there are victims there too."

There was a quiet pause. And then Zwicky sighed.

"Zinn, you know that that won't work with everyone. There are people that we are not going to save from conviction. The people want _blood,_ and they're eager to spill it any way that they can."

"And that's their prerogative. And when the time comes, they're gonna have to live with the image of people hanging from a noose or whatever it is that justice in the Commonwealth is supposed to look like!" Zinn said. "But they also need to realize that they need to be careful where they stampede on their way to find a scapegoat, lest they trample on someone who's actually innocent in the grand scheme of things." He took a deep breath. "We can't save everyone, Zwick. But that's not what I'm going for. I'm trying to get the Commonwealth and Diamond City to step _forward._ I want them to seek the justice that they deserve, and then be able to reconcile with those that weren't condemned and then we can finally start _rebuilding_ this place."

"Zinn, you know that relying on people changing their minds in your favor is one of the hardest things we can do?" Zwicky asked. "Because I know from firsthand experience that people will cling to their stubborn beliefs. I teach schoolchildren, after all."

"You think I _don't_ know that?" Zinn asked. He raised a mottled eyebrow. "I am well aware of the weight I'm taking on here. I'm just asking that you trust me, Zwicky. I wouldn't have agreed to take this case if you weren't a part of it. The mayor trusts you to be a good man of action, and I trust Willie Pitt. I _believe_ in him. All I'm asking is that you believe in me."

There was a prolonged silence. Zwicky sighed, and wiped his face with his palm.

"…Alright." He said. "I might not always know where you're going with it, but I believe in you. Just…don't keep me out of the loop, okay?"

"Promise." Zinn said.

They sat there for a moment.

"So…you ready?" Zinn asked.

"It's sure been long enough." Zwicky admitted.

"Got the case notes of both the defense and prosecution?" Zinn asked.

"Yes. And she has everything too."

"And the list of witnesses?"

"Same."

"Good…" Zinn leaned back in the chair. "Then I suppose that that's all there is to it. Tomorrow morning, we wake up, and we go to work."

"Zinn…"

"Yeah, Zwick?"

"Are we doing the right thing?"

At that moment, in the far distance, they heard a sound. It was the sound and the fury of some distant thunder, the kind that made all living things seek shelter. There were staccato bursts, and then a few titanic blasts that seemed to echo over the sky. Gunfire. Artillery. Explosions. The sounds of death seemed to echo through the air.

"Sounds like they're having a hell of a time in Jamaica Plain…" Zinn muttered.

"Yeah…" Zwicky said, trying not to think about the hell that seemed to have emerged mere miles to the south of his home.

"Zwick."

He turned to look at Zinn.

"Yeah?"

"…We _are_ doing the right thing."

A/N: And I return! Sincere apologies for the delay: real life and busyness got in the way. But I'm back! I should get another chapter up some time this coming week. But for now I hope you enjoyed this one, and I hope you enjoy the next chapter: the trial is about to begin!

Till next time!


	4. Opening Statements

A/N: I own nothing except the laptop I wrote this story on.

He awoke to the smell of something cooking in the basement. He blinked once, his eyes bleary, and then he bolted with a panic when he realized that he'd fallen asleep at his desk. Horatio Zwicky looked around. In his waking moments, he'd thrashed a few of the essays that he'd apparently been grading last night off of his desk, and onto the floor. Sighing, he picked them all up, and then set them down in the piles that they belonged. He vaguely remembered telling Zinn that he'd planned to get through fifteen essays last night before calling it. In the end, he'd gotten through about nine. He was halfway through Billy's essay, and judging from the look of it he'd been resting his head against the darn thing.

Groaning slightly, Zwicky sat back in his chair and looked up at the dingy ceiling as he heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Zinn was holding a tray, with two plates of food and two cups of coffee resting on it.

"It's gonna be a terrible day." Zwicky said.

"Just because I helped Edna with the food this morning does not mean that it will be a disaster." Zinn said, a little smirk on his face as he set the tray gingerly on the desk. "It just means that the food is a little more on the cooked side. Ghouls have less taste buds; we don't quite got the 'nuance' of flavor that we used to."

Zwicky took a bite of the Brahmin bacon, and did a double take. That was a lot better than what Zinn had led him to believe.

"I said 'more on the cooked' side, not 'the fucking burned' side." Zinn said, as if reading Zwicky's thoughts. He leaned back in his chair, and took a sip of his coffee. "You look like hell, Zwick." He said, observing his partner with a pensive glance.

"I feel like hell." Zwicky said, sighing. "I was supposed to get through all of the papers last night and I didn't. I know that school is cancelled because of the trial but that doesn't mean that I can't get a little bit of schooling in for the kids."

"Then work on that primarily, today." Zinn said. "I figured I was gonna take the load of the work today."

"Why is that?" Zwicky asked. Zinn chuckled.

"I might be old as dirt, but one of the upsides is that I remember what it was like to see a trial happening in real time. You don't really know how to speak in court, and you sure don't know how to play to a crowd. Let me give this day to you as a 'practice,' of sorts. And then from there I'm sure that the work will even itself out."

"You don't want my help at all?" Zwicky asked.

"Only if you think that I need it." Zinn said. "I can handle ol' Miss Deathclaw on the other side of the bench. The better question is, can her witnesses?"

"What do you mean?" Zwicky asked.

"Well, Horatio, I'm not sure that you know this, but part of the deal of a criminal trial is that there are witnesses that are called up to the stand to testify, either to add or subtract to a case. You were busy with your homework stuff over the last few days, so I took the liberty of putting together _our_ witness list…" He took a look at his notebook. "Which, at this point, starts and ends with Dr. Brian Virgil, a former Institute head of…" He peered at the notes a little closer. "Oh, it appears that it doesn't quite say. Just a lot of scientific gobblydegook. Which naturally means that he was in the shit." He then raised his hand to be on level with his eyes. "Up to here."

"Sounds like a charming guy." Zwicky said, finally reaching for a sipping his own coffee.

"Heard that the Minutemen General had to drag him kicking and screaming out of his hole in the Glowing Sea to get him here." Zinn said. "I think he'd be annoyed if we didn't know or use him in some way, shape or form."

"And who does Miss Darrow have on her witness list?" Zwicky asked. "Who might she call?"

"It's not a _might_ issue, Zwick. She's gonna call everyone that she can because she wants to bury us. It's a matter of _when_ she calls people." Zinn looked through his notes. "It looks like…she's calling Ellie Perkins, Nick Valentine-"

"She's calling _both_ Valentine and his secretary?"

"It's a thoroughness method: first she gets the secretary on the stand to tell the jury the _volume_ of cases, and then Nick himself _elaborates_ on the cases. It's a calculated one-two punch to overwhelm the jury with facts. Or hearsay. Whatever you choose to believe." Zinn said.

"You spoke as though there are more to come."

"She's also calling up Dr. Madison Li."

"From the _Brotherhood?"_

"Turns out the good doctor was a member of the Institute higher-ups before defecting. She's probably got prosecutorial immunity. Which means that she's gonna have no fear to say whatever she wants, if it means that she gets to throw people under the bus."

Zwicky leaned back in his chair again.

"Zinn…that is a _murderously_ stout witness lineup."

"I know." The ghoul said.

"How can you possibly hope to get the jury to think about anything other than 'how screwed the Institute is?'"

Zinn was looking through another packet of notes that he'd clearly made while Zwicky was either busy with schoolwork or sleeping. Probably while he was sleeping. Either way, it was a lot of stuff in there. Zinn stopped leafing through the papers, and looked up at his partner.

"I've got a couple of ideas."

…

Jethro sighed as he sat down in his chair, off to the side of the trial area. He watched as the crowd of Institute people were herded off to a small cordoned-off area, and there were a couple of Diamond City guards cornered around them. They had very large rifles, and they seemed to leaning their rifles in so that they were lazily pointed towards the people around them. Jethro wrinkled his nose. There was something to be said about treating people with at least a modicum of respect; even if the Institute was the bad guy here, there was no need to stoop to their level. He watched the children in the Institute ranks cower from the rifles, and shook his head.

There was a veritable crowd growing around the place. It was out in front of the Wall, which was a somewhat fitting locale for the trial. There wasn't enough space inside anywhere for it to happen, so where else could they go? The fact that it was a hot and sticky summer was a bit of a problem, but then again…the longer they waited, the longer they gave the Quincy Insurrection a half-focused Diamond City. The Minutemen were holding the fort for the meantime, but Jethro had heard from Miss Piper (who had a very, very, very high-ranking insider source) that the Minutemen were starting to lose patience with Mayor Pitt's glacial pace at getting the trial taken care of, and that there needed to be some resolution soon so that Diamond City could fully join the war effort. While thinking of that, Jethro looked back up and towards the Mayor's office. There he was, standing on the balcony, a cigar hanging in his lips and a pensive look on his face. He was watching, but from a distance. Seemed pretty typical of the guy.

There was a commotion. Jethro looked to see that the lawyers for both the Institute and the Commonwealth had entered the court area, and while there were a few people murmuring in hushed whispers about how this lady attorney was, Jethro noticed the icy stares that Zinn and Zwicky were getting from a few people in the crowd. He saw a few of the kids give Mr. Zwicky their teacher a friendly wave, and he could tell that the schoolteacher saw them and was a little relieved that there were a few people that didn't hate him, all of a sudden. The attorneys all took a seat at their table. With that, the crowd and everyone in it began to quiet. Then, one of the guards serving as the bailiff (Jethro had to look up what that word meant) barked out in a loud voice.

"ALL RISE!"

Everyone in the area stood up. There was a sound of footsteps, and there was silence as Vadim made his way up to the judge's desk up on the dais. He stood behind his chair, and looked out over everyone in front of him. It was impossible to read him: the usually-gragarious bartender was completely expressionless.

"Please be seated." Vadim said.

Everyone took their seat, and Vadim pulled out his chair so that he too could sit down. He reached into his pocket, and pulled out an honest-to-god pair of reading spectacles. He rested them on the bridge of his nose, and took a look at the papers laid out in front of him.

"Okay. Today's business is trial of Institute Remnant. Charges…too many to list." Vadim adjusted the glasses on his nose, and looked over at Darrow. "Is prosecution ready?"

"The prosecution is ready, your honor." Darrow said, but Jethro noted a twinge of displeasure in her voice: clearly she wasn't quite convinced that he could serve as a judge. Jethro recognized that tone of voice. It was the same tone of voice when people heard that he was a reporter, instead of an old man sitting on his rocking chair. And yet here he was, and the rest of them were helpless to do anything but sit and watch.

Vadim glanced over to the other two.

"And defense?"

"The defense is ready, your honor." The ghoul, whom Jethro had learned was named 'Zinn,' said. Zwicky just nodded in agreement. Jethro could tell that he was in a state of shell-shock. The old man couldn't blame him.

Vadim nodded.

"Okay. Members of jury, remember to listen to arguments and trial with open mind. Prosecution may begin opening statement."

And it had begun.

…

Miss Darrow got up from her table, and pushed the chair in behind her in a neat and proper manner. She was also wearing glasses, though these were a lot nicer-looking than Vadim's. She started to pace back and forth a little bit, and then turned to face the jury.

"Murder. Kidnapping. Extortion. Terror." She began. "Theft. Destruction of property. Identity theft, to put it mildly." She kept pacing, and then stopped. "I could go on, but the sheer tonnage of crimes could stop a herd of Brahmin in their tracks."

She walked up to the jury bench, and rested a hand on the railing.

"The Institute itself is gone. Nothing more than a smoking crater. But that does not mean that things are over. If anything, the greatest battle lies before us. _Responsibility._ " She turned to face the Institute Remnant. "For years, the Institute used the Commonwealth as a petri dish for their experiments, never once considering the consequences of their actions. Never once did they consider the ramifications. Or the effects. No. It was all…in the name…of _science._ And they got away with it." She started to walk back to her table. "The prosecution has compiled a list of witnesses that will testify to this notion, and you will be painted a picture that is complete and defined. It will show the Institute's crimes. It will show you everything that they thought they could avoid accountability. And in the end, it will show you what to do." She stood right behind her chair. "The Commonwealth will prove the culpability of the Institute Remnant. It's just a matter of how much you want to punish them."

She slid out her chair, sat down, and was silent.

For a few moments, the area was deathly quiet.

…

Horatio Zwicky had to remind himself to breathe. He was sure that, just like him, the jury had been enraptured by that succinct summary of everything that the Institute was responsible. And if _he_ had been so swayed, then what on earth was the jury thinking? He was thankful that he was not about to go off and match that performance. She'd been cold as ice the entire time. And efficient.

Zinn received a nod from Vadim that he could begin speaking, and groaned a little bit as he stood up from his seat. He walked over towards the jury bench, and then paused. He held up his pointer finger as if trying to recall something, lazily pointed it over at Darrow, and then chuckled a little bit.

"Fine speech, huh?" He asked, a wry grin on his face. Zwicky noticed from his seat that the jury did not return the gesture. "I mean, I was certainly captivated. The way she weaved her words together…truly magnificent. It was like watching a good show at the theater."

At this, his smile faded.

"But then I realized something. This isn't theater. This isn't the picture show. It's a court of law. And, in a court of law, the way we weave our words together isn't what you're listening for. We're here to determine culpability, yes. But we never do it without giving everyone the chance to give their side. Otherwise, we might as well imitate those barbarians to the south and their version of justice. And I can promise you, their form of justice and law is a lot less dainty and eloquent than ours is."

As if to punctuate his point, there was a distant boom off in the distance. It was clearly the sounds of artillery, most likely around Jamaica Plain. Everyone in the courtroom flinched, except for Zinn.

"The prosecution would have you wield your power as the jury the way a child might wield a hammer: indiscriminately whacking at anything and everything. But if we are to be a truly lawful and just society, then we cannot behave as children. We have to be like adults. And that means weighing everything equally and with justice." Zinn continued. He took a deep breath. "At the end of it all, when we have called forth witnesses on both sides, it will be your decision. The lives of other human beings are in the balance. It may seem a relatively easy decision to make. The prosecution would certainly have you believe that. But as this trial goes on…" Zinn paused. He then glared pointedly at each and every member of the jury. "…you _will_ find it difficult."

He then walked back to his chair, and then sat down without another word.

There was another pause, as the courtroom of sorts considered his words. Vadim cleared his throat.

"How do defendants plea?"

Zinn rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand, and cleared his throat.

"Not guilty, your honor."

An uproar went through the crowd. People in the stands and public viewing area began to scream and shout, and it was just barely that the Diamond City security was able to keep them from breaching the court area.

 **BOOM.**

Everytihng went silent. Vadim was standing at his seat, a shotgun pointed towards the sky.

" _SILENCE!_ " He bellowed. "This not anarchy, but a courtroom! Will eject everyone from premises if I must! Now _sit, mudakis._ "

Slowly, the crowd began to settle a little bit. Though there was a definite sense of electric charge to the room, at least there wasn't a possible riot on their hands. As the commotion began to die down, Zwicky leaned over and whispered in Zinn's ear.

"Were you _trying_ to start a riot?" He asked.

"No." Zinn replied. "If I was, I would have had us plead _nolo contendere_."

Zwicky just stared at him.

"Never mind, Zwick. Just roll with it."

They noticed that Vadim had sat back down, shuffling the papers at his desk, and also prominently leaving his shotgun on the table as well as a visual warning for anyone else that was interested in piping up again. With that, he looked over to the prosecution.

"Miss Darrow? Call witness, please."

Clarice Darrow stepped up, and then cleared her throat as well.

"The prosecution calls Miss Ellie Perkins to the stand."

"Here we go…" Zinn muttered to Zwicky, as the latter felt his stomach knotting into butterflies.

A/N: I return! A bit late, but better late than never, I suppose. I was thinking about the length of this story (seeing as how I _do_ want to get to the _Zugzwang_ sequel at some point), and I think that I'm gonna _try_ to cap it at 10 chapters (maybe a few less, but definitely no more than 11). It _is_ a spin-off of sorts, after all. So this chapter was basically a chapter for the opening statements. Also a chance to show that Vadim has an… _interesting_ manner of keeping court decorum. Maybe he really _is_ Judge Roy Bean, after all…

Till Next Time!


	5. Courtroom Antics

A/N: I own nothing except the laptop I wrote this story on.

"Please state your name to the court."

"Ellie Perkins."

She was wearing a very subdued outfit. Nothing different, except that scarf that she usually kept wrapped around her neck had been switched out for one that was a little darker than the typically light red and white number she normally wore. Jethro hadn't really gotten to know her employer much, seeing as how he was usually out working a case or two, but the old reporter had gotten quite well-acquainted with Miss Perkins. She had developed this somewhat amusing older cousin dynamic to little Nat, and Miss Piper seemed to view her as a good friend. Knowing that Ellie was on good terms with the _Publick_ made it somewhat easier to write stories: Mr. Valentine, as per custom, was notably reticent with giving interviews. He was somewhat old-school, and kept the more sensitive details out of the paper and away from eager reporting. Ellie, while not willing to disclose critical information, was a little bit more relaxed with what she did and didn't admit.

Jethro wondered whether or not that was going to be a problem for her as that prosecutor lady from Vault 81 started walking towards her.

"Can you give us a brief description of your job, Miss Perkins?" Darrow asked.

"I am employed at Valentine Detective Agency." Ellie said.

"Can you be more specific?"

"I suppose you could call me Nick's mother: I'm making sure that everything is in place while he's off adventuring. He does answer when I ring the dinner bell, thankfully."

Most of the people listening chuckled. Except for Darrow, who seemed not to grasp the concept of the joke.

"Can you be more specific to your job at Valentine Detective Agency?" She repeated. If Jethro didn't know any better, he'd say that she'd slowed her cadence about half a click, as if she thought Ellie hadn't understood her the first time. Ellie looked subtly annoyed, but then spoke again.

"I work as the secretary. It's my job to file case reports, write-ups, and the like. If people seek to hire the agency for a case, it's me that they go to."

"And do you serve as a detective, Miss Perkins?"

"No, I don't really leave the office much. I mean, there have been a few times where Nick-"

"A simple yes or no answer will suffice, Miss Perkins."

Jethro raised an eyebrow, and continued to scribble notes. For someone who had actively chosen Perkins as a witness, this Darrow woman wasn't doing too well to establish a sort of rapport with the lady. Darrow seemed unconcerned. Jethro glanced over to the defense table: while that ghoul Zinn seemed completely expressionless, Zwicky seemed like he was dying over at the table. Sweating a little bit, and white as a sheet. It was clear that he was out of his element.

"Miss Perkins, what has been, to the best of your knowledge, the effect of the Institute on the Commonwealth?"

"Objection!"

It was a startling noise. Everyone glanced over to see Zinn had stood up at his desk. He looked annoyed, but not necessarily angry.

"What is objection, councelor?" Vadim asked. It took everyone about half a second to figure out that Vadim was asking Zinn what _his_ objection was, and not what _was_ an objection. Sometimes his accent was difficult to parse out.

"That's a deliberately leading question." Zinn growled. "Wording the question like that suggests to the witness that there is a _particular_ path that the attorney wishes her to take, and introduces bias that harms our clients' case."

Vadim furrowed his brow. Darrow looked up at him.

"Your honor, the ghoul is grasping at straws and we've only just begun the trial. I recommend that-"

"Objection is sustained." Vadim said. "This is supposed to be fair trial. Prosecution should remember that." He looked at Darrow. "Please reword question."

Darrow, for a brief moment, seemed absolutely thunderstruck that the judge had even listened to the objection. But just as quickly as the shock flashed in her eyes, it was gone. And so she looked over at Ellie again.

"Miss Perkins, have you noticed ways that the Institute has afflicted the Commonwealth?"

"Objection!"

At this, Darrow looked over at Zinn, exasperation clear on her face.

"Oh, what now?" She asked.

"Your honor, the use of the word 'afflicted' is _also_ biased against my client. It is still a leading question, albeit better-disguised this time around."

"Your honor, you cannot _possibly_ buy-"

"Objection is sustained." Vadim said. He looked at Darrow. "Please reword question." But then he glanced over at Zinn and Zwicky. "Do not try patience, defense."

From his perch off to the side, Jethro noted that Zwicky looked positively petrified by that warning. Zinn, on the other hand? Though he was doing a good job keeping his face blank, Jethro could see the slightest of twinkles in his eye. The ghoul was _delighted_ right now at how he was trying to get under Darrow's skin. Though Jethro made a mental note as he scribbled some more observations for that night's paper: Zinn was walking a very thin tightrope if he was gambling on letting the courtroom devolve into childish antics. Vadim was laid-back, but he was not a complete screwup. Continuing to behave like this might cost the ghoul later on.

Looking like a teacher whose patience with her childrens' antics had finally run out, Darrow set her jaw and asked again.

"Miss Perkins, have you noticed ways that the Institute has _affected_ the Commonwealth?"

Jethro noticed that she seemed to put some venom into her pronunciation of the word "affected."

"Yes, I have."

"Could you please elaborate?" Darrow asked. She seemed to shoot a brief glance over at Zinn, as if daring him to challenge the nature of that questioning. When he didn't, Ellie took it as a cue to speak.

"Nick has been working in the Commonwealth for years, now. Out of all of the cases that we as an agency are asked to look into, I would say that the most common is missing persons cases by an overwhelming margin."

"When people approach you with a missing persons case, what is the context of their approach?" Darrow asked.

"Nine times out of ten, it's because they fear that the Institute has kidnapped someone that they care about." Ellie said. "And when Nick gets assigned to the case, he puts everything that he's got into it. And despite our best efforts, more often than not it's as if the people we're tracking have simply disappeared into thin air."

"You mention reference to the Institute." Darrow said. "What makes you think that the Institute is behind the kidnappings?"

"Though we struggle to find the people in question, more often than not Nick runs into…rather obvious signs that the Institute is involved."

"Such as?"

"The fact that he often gets shot at by Institute Synths the longer he spends researching and investigating a kidnapping." Ellie said, folding her arms across her chest. Darrow seemed to have a slightly triumphant gleam in her eye, and then paused for a moment. And then she cleared her throat.

"Miss Perkins, have you ever found _specific_ evidence that the Institute has kidnapped anyone? Have you ever saved people from their kidnappings, for instance?"

"A few people." Ellie said. "Most of the time, the Institute covered its tracks impossibly well. But every now and then Nick lucked into stopping an Institute kidnapping and saves the person in question. They're badly shaken up, and don't give us much…but they know that it was a gang of Synths that has kidnapped them. And there was only one place in the Commonwealth that made Synths. So it wasn't hard to do that mental math."

Darrow nodded.

"Thank you, Miss Perkins."

She went back to her desk and took a seat.

...

Zinn sat at his desk, a blank expression on his face. He took a deep breath, and then stood up out of his chair. Zwicky flinched a little bit, but other than that made no other motion.

"Miss Perkins, how long have you been working with Mr. Valentine?" He asked.

"Several years." Ellie said.

"Like your job?"

"Love it. It's difficult work, but someone needs to do it."

"I agree. Detective work is a very noble and harrowing profession. Which makes it very important to get all your bases covered." He finished, somewhat cryptically. He started pacing back and forth. He stopped, and paused for a moment. "Miss Perkins, whom do you get your complaints from?"

"From concerned citizens of the Commonwealth." Ellie said, a rather unimpressed look on her face.

"Right, right." Zinn said. "Is it always from people that are related to the victims of disappearance?"

"Not always, no."

"Really? And who else might be concerned about the livelihood of people that they don't know anything about?"

"…Obviously the other people in the Commonwealth, otherwise they might be next. They're looking out for other people."

"Looking out for other people? Up until the Commonwealth Accords were signed a few months ago, I was under the impression that it was a Brahmin eat Brahmin world here in the Commonwealth."

"Objection!" Darrow snapped, startling some people (and nearly causing poor Zwicky to fall out of his chair) "He's belittling the witness, your honor."

"Sustained." Vadim said. He raised an eyebrow towards Zinn. "Stay on topic, please."

"Oh, o'course your honor." Zinn said in a casual tone. "Let me put it this way, Miss Perkins: as detectives, you and Mr. Valentine make it your goal to research everything about a case, right?"

"That is a very astute assumption, Mr…" She trailed off. "I'm sorry, I don't actually know your last name."

"Just 'Zinn' is fine." Zinn said.

"Well, in that case, Mr. Zinn, yes we do research everything about a case."

"Even the people who ask you to take the case?"

"Well, normally we do."

"Normally?"

"Well, yes. When it's a robbery or a murder or something of that ilk, we look for motive and consider who exactly benefits from the case in question."

"Have there been times where the person asking you to look into the crime was actually someone involved in the crime who just looked to deflect attention from themselves?"

"That has happened, yes."

"And who does the background checks, you or Mr. Valentine?"

"Normally I do."

"So whenever the Institute was involved, naturally you did background checks on the people asking you to look into it, right?"

There was a pause.

Zinn stopped pacing, as if he'd recognized the silence, and turned towards Ellie.

"Well, did you look into them or not?"

"Objection! Badgering the witness." Darrow snapped.

"Overruled." Vadim said. Zinn looked positively delighted that Darrow had been the first of the two to have an objection overruled, though he made sure to keep it low-key. Vadim turned to Ellie. "Simple yes or no question, is it not?"

"Well, most of the time we just jumped right into the case without checking." Ellie admitted. And, like a Deathclaw sensing blood, Zinn pounced.

"Now why on earth would you do that?"

"Twofold: first, it was pretty clear that the Institute was involved in these cases. Secondly, there were so many of them that if we spent any time not involved in the case itself, we'd never find anyone."

" _Pretty clear_?" Zinn scoffed. "I thought that detectives were supposed to be thorough in every aspect of their job, especially the little things."

"Don't accuse me or Nick of being slipshod, Mr. Zinn." Ellie said. Zinn held up his hands in defense.

"I'm not, Miss Perkins. I'm simply suggesting that, in the flow of cases that the two of you are working yourselves to death on, some of them might have been misattributed to other causes."

" _Misattributed?_ " Ellie asked, clearly offended. "What on earth do you mean by that?"

"I mean that the wastes are pretty damn dangerous." Zinn said. "Isn't it possible that a good chunk of your victims and missing persons were victims of raider or super mutant attacks? Are you positive that _every single case of disappearance_ in the Commonwealth can be traced to the Institute?"

"That's highly unlikely." Ellie said.

"But does that necessarily rule out the possibility?"

"…It doesn't." Ellie said, staring bullet holes at the ghoul.

Zinn looked like the dog that got the treat for a trick. But then the twinkle in his eye disappeared for a moment. Zwicky looked over at him, and saw that a cloud seemed to pass over him. He wasn't sure why. But then Zinn seemed to recover. And he turned back towards Ellie.

"One more question, Miss Perkins." Zinn asked. "The nature of the Institute's elusiveness…did it bother you and Mr. Valentine?"

"What kind of question is that?" She asked. "I can't tell you how many times Nick shooed me to go get some sleep in the wee hours of the morning because we'd hit the wall against a particular case, with the promise that he would do my work for me, only to wake up a few hours later at the crack of dawn to see him still poring over the ins and outs of a case, trying to see where he might have missed something." She narrowed her eyes at Zinn. "It didn't bother us, Mr. Zinn. It _tortured_ us."

Now Zinn seemed to be cautious, as if he was gingerly handling a live explosive. He cleared his throat.

"Miss Perkins, concerning the amount of work that you two put into trying to find people…did you ever wonder why your luck was so dismal?"

"…You seem to enjoy twisting the knife, Mr. Zinn." Ellie said. "But yes. There were times where we felt as though the game was stacked against us. It was as though the Institute was in our head, and as if they were always tipped off whenever we started to get wise to where they might have taken people. I can't tell you how many times Nick came back frustrated, having smoked out an Institute safehouse only to discover that they'd just left before him."

"Almost makes you wonder if they had help." Zinn said.

"What do you mean?" Ellie asked, eyes widening slightly.

"Miss Perkins, have you ever considered the Institute had outside help? To make things more difficult for you?"

Ellie sat there for a moment, and then stared at the ground in front of her. When she looked up at Zinn, she seemed to have aged a decade from sheer exhaustion.

"It's crossed Nick's mind, yeah."

"Do you think that those collaborators are just as culpable as the Institute, if not more?"

"Objection!" Darrow snapped. "I've allowed this ridiculousness to go on long enough, but I've had it. Your honor, the point of this trial is _not_ to spend hours listening to hare-brained theories that have no basis in reality!"

"Nothing further, honor." Zinn said quickly, making it clear that he was done.

"Fair point, counselor." Vadim said. "Sustained. Jury will make note to disregard line of questioning, beginning from 'did it bother you and Mr. Valentine?'"

But as Zinn made his way back to the desk, Zwicky looked out to the jury and the crowd and saw that they most definitely had not disregarded that rather disturbing line of thought. He felt a pit in his stomach, and wasn't sure what it was. But when he took a look over at his partner, he knew that the pit was only going to get worse.

"Witness is excused." Vadim said. Ellie got up from the desk, gave a sigh of frustration (or was it from nerves? It was impossible to tell), and walked off. Vadim glanced over towards Darrow.

"Does prosecution have any other people to call?" Vadim asked, gently turning his shotgun so that it was not facing outwards. Some of the people in the viewing audience seemed to visibly exhale when he did so.

"Yes, your honor." Darrow said. She adjusted her glasses a little bit, and then cleared her throat. "The prosecution calls to the stand Mr. Jonathan Stockton."

Zwicky shuffled in his seat in surprise, as he glanced over at Zinn. The ghoul didn't seem to be terribly shaken by the fact that the prosecution seemed to have an inexhaustible amount of witnesses: if anything, he only seemed somewhat surprised that Old Man Stockton had managed to make it from Bunker Hill to Diamond City, what was the curfews and lockdown that the Minutemen and the local militias desperately tried to enforce every night. It must have been a particularly quiet night when he'd snuck over to the city.

Stockton groaned slightly as he sat down in the seat. He was definitely living up to his nickname, if the wince on his face was any indication. He cleared his throat, and offered up a pleasant – if tired – face towards the crowd and towards Miss Darrow.

"Mr. Stockton, could you please state your name for the court?"

"Certainly, Miss. I'm old Jonathan Stockton, but everyone knows me as Old Man Stockton."

"And what is your occupation?"

"Officially, I am the proprietor of Stockton Goods, based out of Bunker Hill. I also am part of the Trader's Guild, established five months ago as an addendum to the Commonwealth Accords. I serve as the treasurer."

"And what is the specific job of the Treasurer to the Trader's Guild?"

"About as straightforward as it gets, ma'am. Old Stockton here just keeps his watchful on the money. Nothing gets past me, to be honest."

Jethro happened to glance over at the defense table, and saw a strange twinkle in the eye of Zinn. Zwicky seemed more or less desperately trying to hang on.

"Mr. Stockton, you mentioned that your 'official' occupation is as a trader. Does that suggest that you engage in unofficial duties?"

"Objection!"

Everyone glanced over at Zinn.

"That's an incriminating question, your honor." Zinn said. " _And_ irrelevant."

"Overruled." Vadim said. He turned towards Darrow, ignoring Zinn's comical scowl of frustration. "Please proceed."

Darrow didn't bother to hide the self-satisfied gleam in her eyes as she turned towards Stockton. Stockton chuckled slightly.

"I don't mind revealing what I did, because what I did was neither illegal nor immoral."

"And what was that?" Darrow asked.

Stockton took a deep breath.

"I smuggled Synths out of the Institute and to safety."

There was a murmur from the crowd, with more than a few leery glares towards Stockton. Darrow put on a look of confusion, but Jethro could, from his view to the side, tell that it was an affectation.

"Mr. Stockton, you're saying that you brought Synths in to infiltrate the Commonwealth?" Darrow asked.

"Not at all." Stockton said. "I saved would-be slaves."

"…Can you elaborate?" Darrow asked.

"Certainly." Stockton said. "The Institute was not just in the business of kidnapping people. They were also in the business of forcing people into indentured servitude, if not worse." He cleared his throat. "See, the Institute did not view their Synths as anything more than tools. It wasn't enough that they were creating life, they had to control it. And every aspect of it. They punished individuality from the Synths, and viewed any sort of personality as cute…unless it involved the Synth talking back. Then they…felt the need to re-educate it. As to how…I'd rather not say." He seemed severely troubled. "I remember the first time that I helped a Synth escape into the wide world. He was a young man, with brown hair and green eyes. Had his memories wiped from his time in the Institute, and…well…I talked to him. Sort of helped him…'remember,' if you will. And then when I sent him off on his way, I felt like I had a higher purpose in life. I was going to save as many people as I could."

"Do you know what became of that Synth?" Darrow asked.

"I last got a postcard from him…boy, it was a couple of years ago. Said that he'd regained his original memories, but that he remembered me and wanted to thank me for going through all the trouble of sending him down to Rivet City. Then he mentioned he was gonna head out west. Stake his claim there, or something like that." Stockton smiled. "I've never heard from him since, but in a way I suppose that's for the best. I'd rather that than finding out otherwise, you know?" He paused. "I don't regret a thing. I'm not an expert on what does and doesn't constitute life, but if they're breathing, they don't deserve to be treated poorly. And if I get in trouble with some others well…I'd rather save people than leave them to a fate that they don't deserve."

Darrow nodded.

"Thank you, Mr. Stockton." Darrow said, and she returned to her seat.

Zinn practically leapt out of his chair. Jethro made a note of it in his notes. That was...an interesting turn of events.

"Mr. Stockton, how long were you in the business of 'saving' Synths?" Zinn asked.

"Oh, I'd say years, son. I can't remember specifically."

"And how many Synths can you remember saving?"

"A lot, son. More than I think you can imagine."

"Ballpark it."

"What?"

Zinn shrugged.

"I'd like a number." He said. "How many Synths, in your opinion, do you think you rescued?"

There was a pause. Stockton seemed to squirm in his chair. And then he cleared his throat again.

"I can't put a number to it, truthfully." He said.

"So you don't know."

"No, I fear that I don't. But does it matter?"

"I'd say it does. I'd say it does a lot, Mr. Stockton."

"Objection!" Darrow snapped. "Badgering the witness."

"I have a point, your honor." Zinn fired back.

"Then _make it._ " Vadim growled from the bench. Zinn turned back towards Old Man Stockton.

"So you cannot, with certainty, state how many Synths that you rescued?"

"Well, no, I can't but-"

"So it's entirely likely that one of the Synths that you rescued was the infamous raider leader of Libertalia?"

"Of course not!" Stockton replied. "All of the Synths I rescued were part of the worker class that was abused by the Institute-"

"With all due respect, Mr. Stockton, how the hell can you be sure-"

"Objection _!"_

 _"-_ because you've just admitted that you don't remember who you've saved! If anything, I wouldn't be surprised if you 'saved' a couple of Synth Coursers pretending to get in your good graces so that !"

" _OBJECTION!"_

" **Sustained!** " Vadim roared. He racked his shotgun. "Defense, control self! This not place for bullying."

"Mr. Stockton, is it within the realm of possibility that some of the Synths you were 'saving' were not what they said to be?" Zinn asked.

Stockton was silent for a very long time.

"…I cannot answer that question." He finally said.

"Nothing further." Zinn said. But as Stockton started to stand up, he suddenly cleared his throat. "Just one moment, Mr. Stockton. I have a brief question." He cleared his throat. "Were you always successful in saving Synths?"

"…Not always, no." Stockton said. He seemed utterly miserable, as if he wanted to be anywhere else in the world except there on the stand.

"And did you ever wonder why?" Zinn asked. "Did you ever wonder if there might have been people who might have been aware of what you were doing?" He paused for a moment. "Or did you always keep it covered, because, like you said, 'nothing gets past you'?"

"Objection!"

"Withdrawn. Nothing further." Zinn said, stalking over to the table. He'd clearly made his point.

At that moment, there was a thunderclap in the distance.

"Radstorm approaching!" Vadim shouted. "Will reconvene court tomorrow, when it passes."

With that, the entirety of the court audience fled for safe shelter.

As Zwicky was putting his notes away to meet with Zinn back at the house, he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around.

"I know what he's trying to do." Darrow's voice was calm, and yet terrifyingly cold.

"I'm sorry?" Zwicky asked. Darrow frowned.

"Your friend. He's trying to cover everything up in a smokescreen. Get people distracted from the real issues by turning this all into a game." Darrow said. Zwicky, despite himself, decided to be brave.

"Well, he did a very good job of discrediting the reliability of your witnesses."

Darrow smiled. It wasn't a friendly smile. She nodded once.

"So you say. Just know this. Tomorrow, I'm going to put Valentine on the stand. And he's going to empirically state the ways that your clients nearly brought the Commonwealth down. There is no way that either of you can argue the facts that he will bring to this case. And then, you're going to call your 'star' witness. Dr. Brian Virgil. I know his story. I know his situation. And I know exactly what he's going to get up on the stand and say."

She took a step forward, so that they were only about a foot apart. Her cologne was sharp.

"And you are going to get a front row seat to watch as, in full view of Diamond City, I cut him into fucking dog treats."

She walked away.

A/N: I return! Sorry for the delay! New job can be a bit of a drag on free time. Hope you liked this one, and I hope you like the next chapter. That one will be a doozy. You'll see…


	6. Breaking Point

A/N: I own nothing except the laptop I wrote this story on.

He couldn't sleep.

He heard the old grandfather clock, the one that Edna had gotten him as a wedding present, ticking somewhere in the upper echelons of the classroom above them. He glanced over towards the corner of the room, where Edna was in sleep mode. He heard some snoring in the corner, and saw that Zinn had fallen asleep in the corner, sitting in that old chair that was probably as old as he was. That left him alone awake.

Him and his thoughts.

Try as he might, he simply couldn't bring himself to get her words out of his head. There was something about it that had been so…intimidating. Though he'd known that Darrow was a mean cuss that clearly pulled no punches, that exchange was the first time that Zwicky had come to wonder if she was in this for the pursuit of the law and justice, or if she was little more than a grim reaper or a sadist. There had been a flash in her eyes that frightened him: a sense of impending delight, like a wolf about to feast on something raw and juicy.

And Dr. Brian Virgil was her intended victim.

Horatio Zwicky hadn't spent much time talking to any of his clients. Mostly because he had deferred to Zinn's opinion that many of them were probably irredeemable. Or, at best, they were simply clueless as to how their actions had damaged the Commonwealth. Perhaps it was a form of cowardice, but Zwicky didn't feel any better about himself for being honest. As he sat in his chair, listening to the clock and to Zinn's snoring, he felt his mind racing. Sleep wasn't going to come to him any time soon.

Quietly, he got out from his chair. He crept past Zinn and his wife, and put on his coat and hat. It was one of those battered old fedoras that apparently all the "dapper gentlemen" (as Edna put it) were wearing these days: Apparently she felt that someone who was now a lawyer needed to look the part. He just thought he looked somewhat silly.

And yet he still wore it.

He stared at himself a little bit more, and then sighed. There was something about this get-up that made him feel…important. He wasn't sure what it was, but he felt something was there. But then, like a shooting star in the night, the moment passed and he felt slightly embarrassed. He took the coat and hat off, and went back to the chair where he'd been sitting. Soon, he had fallen asleep.

…

"The Defense calls Dr. Brian Virgil, former Institute scientist, to the stand."

Horatio Zwicky blinked once or twice. The day had seemed to fly by as though it was a dream. It was all a blur. And yet here he was, sitting at the table, watching as Zinn called the "star witness" to the stand. There was an unbearable tension in the air. The whole crowd seemed to sense it as well. This Dr. Virgil had been the centerpiece of a search-and-rescue by the Brotherhood of Steel as well as the Minutemen. He'd been the last major operation conducted before the Quincy Insurgency had flown into the Commonwealth, forcing everyone to hunker down and pray that things would pass. All of those memories seemed to be ages ago. Like a lifetime had passed.

He looked terrible. Pale, gaunt, and like he hadn't shaved in weeks. He was hunched in his chair, slightly, as though he was utterly spent. And he looked like he'd lost a lot of weight. It'd been rather touch and go: shortly after his arrival from the Glowing Sea, Dr. Virgil had come down with a violent fever that was speculated to be a side-effect of such close proximity to high levels of radiation. But in the end, it was treated by Dr. Sun. Barely…but treated.

"Please state your name for the court."

Zinn seemed quite serious. His normal joking and jovial nature seemed to have been replaced by a somewhat stoic approach. Even he seemed aware of the gravity of the situation. Dr. Virgil's testimony was, quite literally, the moment that many had been waiting for.

"Brian Virgil." He seemed to hesitate. "I was a scientist for the Institute."

"How long were you affiliated with the Institute?" Zinn asked.

"In a way, my entire life." Dr. Virgil said. "I was born in the Institute. Raised in the Institute. Went to school down there. And then became a scientist when I was old enough."

"And what was the purpose of your research?" Zinn asked.

"I was in the biology department." Virgil said. "I was…assigned to come up with ways that might improve the human condition. It's…gosh, it sounds so silly saying it out loud but…"

"But what?" Zinn asked.

"I thought that I was going to make a positive difference. You know. Change the world. That kind of thing."

Zwicky wrinkled his nose. This wasn't going the way that he thought it would. Virgil was being far too evasive. And Zinn wasn't even pressing him.

"Dr. Virgil, why did you leave the Institute?"

"I didn't leave. I fled."

"Why did you _flee_ the Institute?"

"Because I feared for my life."

"And why did you fear for your life?"

"Because…because I disagreed with the policy that the bosses were making. I wanted to speak up, and then…then it became very clear that my continued presence in the Institute was…well, it was not going to end well for me."

"Was the Institute in general in favor of such…repressive policies?"

"No."

"Then who was?"

"The Board of Directors."

Zwicky looked over at the Institute Remnant. He particularly looked over at the people that he had pegged for middle management and below. Some of them seemed to realize what Virgil was trying to do. But others seemed to think, judging by the expression on their faces, that he was selling the entire enterprise down the river.

"So are you suggesting that the Board of Directors was keeping the entire Institute under such a…stifling environment?"

"I am."

Zinn made a slightly annoyed noise in the back of his throat, only detectable to Zwicky. The ghoul was working overtime for very short and unfulfilling answers.

"So…is it fair to say that the reason why the Institute may have acted in a way that made the Commonwealth fearful of it…is because the board of directors was forcing everyone to toe the line?"

"That is a fair assumption, yes. The Board of Directors…they were so powerful. And they never shared their information with anyone. We just did it. And anyone who didn't…well, they tended to disappear. So I left first."

Zinn sighed.

"Thank you, Dr. Virgil."

…

Almost immediately as soon as Zinn sat down, Darrow stood up.

"Dr. Virgil, you said that the Institute 'Board of Directors' was in charge of policy, correct?"

"Yes." Virgil said tersely. He seemed to be shrinking in his chair.

"And you also said that everyone simply followed their orders?"

"Yes."

"And that the Board of Directors didn't share their plans or threats with anyone, correct?"

"…Yes."

"Then how do you know of their plans?"

"I'm sorry?" Virgil asked.

"How. Do you. Know. Of their plans?" Darrow repeated. "You've already made it clear that the Board of Directors did not share their plans or methods of dealing with people that spoke out. And yet…you profess knowledge that someone who was completely in the dark would never be aware of."

"I don't follow."

"How do we know that you aren't actually a member of the Board of Directors of yourself? Or the leader of the Institute?"

"I'm not!"

"Then who was?"

"…Father."

"Your father was in charge of the Institute?"

"No! It's just…we called him Father."

"And where is he now?"

"Dead. I think."

"How convenient."

"Either way, how do we know that you're not lying about being a member of the Board of Directors?"

"Ob _jection!_ " Zinn snarled. "Jesus, your honor, this is the definition of badgering a witness!"

"Overruled." Vadim said sternly. He then turned to Darrow. "Make point quickly, council. Am losing patience, though not at speed of defense."

Darrow shook her head.

"How do we know that you aren't lying, Dr. Virgil?"

"You have to trust me."

"…Why should I trust someone who's already lied to me on the stand?"

There was a tense pause.

"What?" Dr. Virgil asked. "I haven't lied to you."

"A lie by omission is still a lie." Darrow said coldly. She then held up something in the air. "This is a data cache recovered from the wreckage of the Institute. The outside is charred, but the inside computer system…miraculously…survives. In it are plans for an implementation of the F.E.V. on the Commonwealth. Do you know what that stands for, Dr. Virgil?"

"…Forced Evolutionary Virus."

"And what does the F.E.V. do, Dr.?"

"…It is a forced mutagen. It's designed to turn people…into Super Mutants."

"And what could _possibly_ be the point of such an experiment?"

"…"

"And, while we're on the subject, why _do_ you know about the F.E.V.? That seems to be something that only a specialist would be aware of."

"…"

"Answer the question, Dr. Virgil."

"…Because I was involved in the project."

"Even now, you're lying to me. You weren't just _involved,_ you were the progenitor of the project, weren't you?"

"I didn't come up with it!"

"But you _did_ head it?"

"…Yes."

"So why on _earth_ should I believe you when you say that you're a changed man? Why should any of us believe you when you say that _anyone_ in the Institute is to be considered innocent?"

"Because not everyone knew!"

"But you did?"

"Yes, but-"

"And you did nothing to stop it?"

"You don't understand, I-"

"Really? I think I understand quite clearly here. You realize that you were caught in a lie, and now you're trying to save a few of your friends from the fate that violators of the peace deserve. Quite frankly I see other reason for you to take the stand other than to slither out of here with nary a care of the consequence-"

" _ **BECAUSE WE WERE WROOONNNGGG!**_ "

The outburst startled all into silence. Even Darrow had to step back in surprise.

Dr. Virgil was puffy-eyed, and looked utterly broken. He stared at Darrow, and then at the Institute Remnant. And then he looked at the desk in front of him.

"It was…wrong." He nearly-whispered. "All of it. What we did. What we claimed to be doing, for the sake of the Commonwealth? It wasn't. It was for our own egos. Every last bit of it. And we guarded that sense of superiority with…with this _jealousy_ that the world was going to rip it away from us. This unclean surface world. And we did so much to harm it. We _stole_ people. We _killed_ people. We… _warped_ nature. Just because…we wanted to see what would happen. Because it was for _science._ " He shook his head quietly. "We deserve to burn for what we did. _I_ deserve to burn." He started to cry. "But it was _so few of us that knew._ The others…they really _did_ believe that the goal of the Institute was to better society and the world. I just…they didn't know. They _didn't_ know. And to punish them for the crimes of others…for _my_ crimes as well as others…it wouldn't be justice. Please. Just punish the few. Don't punish the ones that didn't know."

" _You're a dirty fucking coward, Virgil!_ "

Everyone looked to the accused area, where one of the Institute Remnant had to be restrained by a few of the Diamond City Police. Dr. Ayo was practically frothing at the mouth.

" _I'll fucking rip out your skull and piss down your neck!_ " He roared. " _You betraying cocksucker! YOU DESERVE TO DIE!_ "

"Yes, I do!" Dr. Virgil snapped back. "But I'll die knowing I was wrong and that I deserve punishment, Justin. Can _you_ say the same?"

Though Dr. Ayo stared with murderous rage at his former colleague, he fell silent. The Diamond City police shuffled him off to lockup.

Dr. Virgil watched him go. He glanced over at the Institute Remnant, or at least those that were willing to look him in the eye. There was a desperate sort of longing in his eyes, as though he was pleading for their support or just their presence, but then the moment passed. He clasped his hands together, and then when he spoke again it was nary a whisper.

"Please…I've caused the most punishment here. Don't punish them. Just…just punish me. Please. Show them the mercy that I don't deserve."

Clarice Darrow stared at him with a blank expression on her face.

"You have immunity, Dr. Virgil. Nothing you have said in court today will come back to _you_ in any discernable way." She started to walk back towards the prosecution's table. "Nothing further, your honor."

Zwicky noticed a sense of dark satisfaction that seemed to radiate off of the woman as she sat back down.

…

"The People calls Nick Valentine to the stand."

He sat down at the table, and groaned a little bit as the chair squeaked.

"I don't know if that was the chair or me…" Nick muttered. It was an attempt to alleviate the horrific awkwardness that seemed to hang in the air after Dr. Virgil's outburst. To his credit, a few people managed to make a thin smile. But overall, there was a general melancholy hanging over the proceedings. The only one that didn't seem to notice this was Darrow, who proceeded with her work in a machine-like fashion.

"What is your profession, Mr. Valentine?"

"I was a handyman for a number of years, but now I run the Valentine Detective Agency." Nick said. "I basically am the answer to everyone's problems, if they need something taken care of. I would give you a list of everything that I've done, but in the interest of time I think I'll let you do the rest in your head."

"Thank you." Darrow said. She began to pace back and forth. "How long, in your estimate, have you been working on cases that were suspected to involve the Institute?"

"Years, truthfully." Nick said. "I wish I could give you a better estimate but…for the longest time, the Institute has been a sort of shadowy malaise that's hung over my business."

"In the aftermath of the Institute's destruction, was there a role that you played in the aftermath?"

"There was."

"Can you elaborate?"

"Certainly. I was assigned by the people of Diamond City to assist in sifting through the wreckage. I was paid a full salary by the Mayor's office in addition to the income that the Agency normally pulls in. You can ask Ellie; she's the one that manages the money better than I do. My job was to dig through the rubble and gather anything that I felt could be useful to the inevitable trial."

"Are you admitting to a degree of bias, Mr. Valentine?" Darrow asked. But there was a sense of disningenousness in her tone: she knew what the answer was going to be. If anything, it seemed as though she was mocking Zinn's manner of questioning. It came off as somewhat stilted and forced. And cold.

"I won't deny that I pursued my job with a little more vigor than normal." Nick admitted. "But in the end, I was doing it to help everyone that might have been a victim in one way or another. I did everything I could. Maybe even more."

"And why do you say that?"

"Because…" Nick sighed. "Well, look at me. I've spent a very long time working to prove to the people of the Commonwealth that I'm not a mindless drone, you know. At most, that is the extent of my 'selfish' motivation in this case. Everything else is strict professionalism. And most importantly, it's the right thing to do."

"Mr. Valentine, in your time investigating the remains of the Institute, what did you find?"

"In a word? Lots. More specifically? I found hard drives, and holojournals and datapads. I found remnants of experiments and labs and all sorts of detritus. I found so much that it feels like I'd need to hire the folks from the Science Now! Labs to look at it…and even then, I know that I'm forever gonna be bothered with the lack of materials. If we're being _generous_ , I think that I might have found a good 2% of whatever it was that made up the Institute."

"And how would you describe the complexion of the data?" Darrow asked.

Nick sighed.

"Quite damning, frankly. Evidence of experimentation. Of plots to keep the Commonwealth weak and subservient. Plans to eradicate remnants of the history of the Commonwealth. I could go on and on. But that was the core of it. Schemes. Plots. It was a dark experience sifting through the wreckage, and not just because it was dark down in the chasms."

"Thank you Mr. Valentine. Nothing further."

Darrow walked away. It was clear to everyone in the world that she was utterly convinced she'd gotten her man.

As soon as she sat back down, Zinn popped right back up.

"Mr. Valentine, are you a scientist?"

"No, counselor. I'm a detective, not a doctor." Nick smirked slightly. "I've always wanted to say something like that."

"So is it possible that the various words and studies and plans and schemes that you mention to have discovered…you might have misinterpreted them?"

"Are you suggesting that I'm not the sharpest knife in the drawer, counselor?" Nick asked.

"Hardly." Zinn said. "But lemme ask you something: what does sorbitol, malitol, xylitol, mannitol, calcium carbonate, soy lecithin, vegetable deral, glycerin, and talc sound like to you?"

"…I'd have to say that it sounds like something that might kill you." Nick said, after a moment of blank staring.

"I hope not." Zinn reached into his pocket, and tossed a piece of gum into his mouth and began to chew. "Or in the next couple of seconds I'm gonna be six feet under."

Nick rolled his eyes.

"Are you just here to play games, counselor?" Nick asked, somewhat amused.

…

Zinn paused for a moment. He rubbed mouth and cheeks with the palm of his hand. Zwicky stared at his partner in muted confusion. Something was bothering his partner. Something that was on the ghoul's mind. But then, Zwicky realized that it wasn't something that was on the ghoul's mind that was bothering him.

It was something that he knew he had to say.

"Mr. Valentine, you are a former synth from the Institute, correct?" Zinn asked.

"That's an awfully roundabout way of asking me if I'm old, counselor." Nick said.

There was a smattering of laughter in the court. Zwicky noticed that Zinn wasn't laughing.

"Can you describe the reasons why you were ejected from the Institute?" Zinn asked.

"I'll give you the short of it." Nick said. "I was originally designed as a sort of prototype. Something of a bridge between the Gen-IIs and the Gen-IIIs. It's possible that they had me made for interaction with the surface world, but I guess they thought that I looked too creepy. So the next thing I know, I'm in a trash heap with a molerat gnawing on my leg. Pulled myself out of that trash heap, but now I'm here. Sitting on this creaky old chair."

"You said that you have poor memory of your time in the Institute, correct?"

"…I don't have much memory of it, no." Nick said. But there was now a more measured tone in his voice, as though he knew something was about to go down.

"Mr. Valentine, how long have you been investigating disappearances and missing persons that were allegedly connected to the Institute?"

"For longer than I'd like to think about."

"Years?"

"I'd say that's a safe estimate."

"And what's your success rate?"

"I beg your pardon?" Nick asked.

"Of all the cases, how many have you solved?"

"I've solved a good deal of them."

"But there are cases that you didn't solve?"

"That is correct."

"And were there cases that you didn't solve that bothered you for not solving them?"

"When you're a private eye, _every_ case that you don't solve bothers you, counselor. I thought you were a lawyer."

"Please answer the question, Mr. Valentine."

"Objection! Badgering the witness!" Darrow barked.

"Overruled." Vadim said. "Is reasonable question." He looked over at Zinn. "Watch tone, counselor."

Zinn cleared his throat. He seemed to be lost in thought.

"Please answer the question, Mr. Valentine." He repeated. There was a noted difference to his body language. Zwicky wondered what he was thinking about.

"Every case that I've failed to solve eats at me." Nick said sternly. "The fact that I couldn't finish the deal…it's the sort of thing that keeps you up at night."

"Have you ever considered that it was meant to be this way?"

The courtroom went silent. Zwicky felt his chest heaving. His body was comprehending what was about to come, even if his mind hadn't (or simply refused to) comprehend it.

Nick's eyes narrowed. He crossed his arms across his chest.

"Counselor, I'm not a fool. I've been playing games with you up on the stand here for a while now, but if you've got something to say…" Nick lowered his voice. "… _be a man and say it._ "

Zinn stared back at him. He cleared his throat. And then he spoke.

"Mr. Valentine, you do not remember the ins and outs of your time in the Institute, correct?"

"That is correct."

"So is it fair to suggest that, possibly, the reason that you could not solve every single one of your cases because there is programming within you that prevents you from being impartial?"

Zwicky thought that the court would go mad. He thought there'd be screams and protests and shouts. But when he looked around and saw everyone, he saw the same general reaction.

Stunned disbelief.

"What are you suggesting?" Nick asked. But even though he'd asked the question, he clearly knew what the man in front of him was getting at.

"I'm suggesting that what you've presented to the court may not be as reliable as either you or the prosecution might have us believe, because it's possible that your creators covered their tracks! That – though ever so subtly – they influence you still!"

The courtroom exploded.

Screams of protest. Darrow was red in the face, howling for an objection so vehemently that her glasses had been knocked askew. The Institute Remnant seemed more stunned than anything else. Vadim fired two shots from his shotgun to restore order. When the din settled down, Darrow spoke. Her voice was ice-cold and barely restrained fury.

"Your honor, that was perhaps the most _indefensible_ display of unprofessionalism that the defense has displayed in this entire trial."

"Is it any different than making a repentant man cry on the stand?" Zinn snarled back. "I simply asked the question that everyone is afraid to consider. You took _delight_ in ripping apart a man who's already dying of guilt and regret. And _then_ you felt the need to kick him while he was down, and remind him _in full view of everyone_ that nothing he does matters anymore. You _get off_ on making people feel miserable, Darrow. Meanwhile, I take no pleasure in asking the questions that need to be considered!"

"Wanna know something funny, though?"

Everyone turned towards the stand to see Nick Valentine had spoken. He was slouching back in his chair a little bit. It was hard to read his emotions. There seemed to be a sense of sorrow and anger mixed into his expression. But above all, the emotion that seemed to be radiating off of him was that of betrayal.

"After a certain point," Nick said. "There's no way to tell the difference between the person who behaves like a sadist and the person who only pretends to be one for a greater purpose." He looked at Zinn, and then he looked at Zwicky. "Well, you got your ambiguous witness. I hope it was worth it."

With a look of sorrow, Vadim cleared his throat.

"Witness is excused."

As Nick left, Vadim turned to the jury.

"Court adjourned for day. Will reconvene tomorrow to hear any final witness testimony…and closing statements, if there is time."

…

"What the _hell was that?_ "

Zwicky had barely waited until he got inside his house before he found himself yelling. Not speaking, and not talking. Yelling.

"Doing what had to be done." Zinn replied.

" _What had to be done?_ In front of the _entire city,_ you just suggested that Nick Valentine is not to be trusted because he's a _Synth!_ You might as well have spit in the face of the Brotherhood and the Minutemen for signing the Commonwealth Accords!" Zwicky said.

"It's a reasonable concern, and you know that." Zinn said. But as he spoke, he seemed to be losing conviction with each word.

"That's not a reasonable concern, it's _bush league_ and you **know** it." Zwicky snarled. Weeks of stress and worry were boiling over. He didn't care. He was tired. He was angry. He missed the relative calm of teaching. He missed his students. He missed his old life. And now it was all coming out. "We could have found so many other ways to defend our clients than to just go after the other witness-"

"That's what it was like 200 years ago, and you are a _fool_ for thinking otherwise!" Zinn suddenly snapped back. "Attorneys didn't just go after each other; they went after the witnesses that their opponents brought forth. And they didn't just let the truth speak for itself; they would actively seek to discredit the witness by _any means necessary._ Who _cares_ if it's borderline unprofessional. It's what was needed to win! And we need to win!"

"It's not about _winning,_ Zinn, it's about _justice!_ "

"Courts were _never_ about true justice, Horatio." Zinn snapped. "They were a forum for attorneys and lawyers to perform in front of a group of easily swayed people. It's about selling a narrative better than the other side. And _that_ is how it was done for years and years." He leered at Zwicky. "I'm _trying_ to save these people. Because, without what we're doing, they. Are. FUCKED. You see how the city reacts to those people. I'm trying to save those that I can."

"And in doing so, you're willingly risking the decades of hard work that Nick Valentine put into this city and community to prove to people that he is a noble and just man." Zwicky said. "I'm ashamed to be your partner."

"You are un _bear_ ably naïve." Zinn said.

"And you are an empty and cynical _husk_ of a man." Zwicky retorted.

There was a pregnant pause. And then Zinn cleared his throat.

"I'm going for a walk."

"I think that's a good idea." Zwicky replied, his scowl etched on his face.

He stared at the closed door for a while, and then just shook his head.

…

There was a loud knock on the door.

Pastor Clements rustled himself up from his desk, and walked over to the door. There weren't any others in the chapel, and he doubted that he was going to be presented with a cavalcade of parishioners at this time of night. He unlocked the door, wincing as it creaked. The door needed oil.

Horatio Zwicky was standing at his door. The man had bags under his eyes, a mournful look, and was completely disheveled. He looked as though he'd recently been crying.

Pastor Clements wordlessly held the door open for the suffering man to step inside.

"Would you like a drink, Horatio?" He asked, walking over to the small cooler that he kept behind his desk. It was a gift from the General, as a sort of thanks for the council that he'd provided the man during what had been the most critical hours of the peace talks that led to the birth of the Commonwealth Accords. Considering how rare proper electricity and cooling systems were, the pastor was touched by the thought behind the gift. It also provided him with a decent supply of fresh drinks for any suffering folk that might need one.

Such as the man who had entered his door this late hour.

"I…I don't drink, really." Zwicky said. Pastor Clements looked at him wordlessly, raised an eyebrow, and then tossed the man a bottle of chilled Gwinnett Stout. After Zwicky managed to pry the cap off, Pastor Clements reached for his own bottle.

"I…I didn't think that religious figures drank, Pastor." Zwicky stammered.

"I've studied all sorts of faith books." Pastor Clements said. "Bible, Tanach, Mishnah, Talmud, Midrash, Quran, Hadith, the Vedas, and the Sutras. And lemme let you in on a secret, Horatio: they're all remarkably fuzzy on that particular detail. So I figure I'll meet them in the middle, and keep myself from being a drunken fool." He cracked the cap off effortlessly with his thumb, and took a small swig. He sighed as he took a seat at his desk, and looked at the man who had entered his home. "What troubles you, Horatio?"

"What do you think?" Zwicky asked. "I've got the world on my shoulders, Pastor Clements. I just watched a man who was clearly and totally repentant for both the things he was aware of - and the things that he wasn't - get eviscerated by someone who seems to live on misery. I've watched as the town I live in grows more and more anxious for some sort of justice, though I fear that their justice is a form of bloodletting. And I'm tired. So desperately tired. I miss being just a teacher. I miss the late nights of only having to worry about grading papers with Edna. And…" He sighed. "And I got into a fight with Zinn."

At this last bit, Pastor Clements gave a small smile.

"What's so funny?" Zwicky asked.

"Truthfully, Horatio, I consider it a small miracle that the two of you hadn't come to blows like this yet. Let me guess…you two had a disagreement over the handling of today's proceedings?"

"That's…a jaundiced account." Zwicky said. "But not inaccurate." He looked at Pastor Clements. "Pastor, did you watch what happened today?"

"I did."

"And, if you don't mind me asking, did you agree with what Zinn did? You can't tell me that weakening Nick Valentine's standing in the city was worth it, just to cast a _shade_ of disbelief in the eyes of the jury. It…" Horatio found himself rubbing his hands through his hair. "It just goes against everything that I know and believe in. I can't believe that the only way to win things like this is to get your hands dirty. I _believe_ in the good. And I _want_ to believe in it. And yet, in the end, so far only Zinn's dirty tactics have given us any hope. So why does it make me feel sick inside? Why can't I just accept things as they are?"

At this, Pastor Clements' smile seemed to grow.

"What's so funny?" Zwicky asked. Pastor Clements looked him in the eye.

"It's because you're a teacher, Horatio."

"What?" Zwicky asked. "What does that have to do with anything-"

"It has _everything_ to do with everything." Clements said. He cleared his throat. "You see everyone in this world the way you see your students: as beings filled with potential, and capable of capitalizing on the inherent good that they've all got in them. It's just that, in the end, people aren't always that good at admitting that they want to do the _right_ thing. Because the right thing is never easy. It's incredibly difficult. That doesn't make it any less right to do. But there's no denying its difficulty." Pastor Clements sighed. "Men like Zinn see the people in the world as an endless cavalcade of failed potential and bitterness. They see people as an inevitable disappointment. Because they've been burned before. But men like you?" He paused. "You also see the failures and the bitterness and the disappointment. The difference here is that you never stop trying to fix things and do right in the end."

"Are you saying that Zinn is a defeatist?"

"Hardly." Pastor Clements said. "I'm just saying that he goes about looking at the world differently than you do. That's okay, you know. The world needs a counterweight between ideologies, at least in the pursuit of good. There needs to be that stoutness, that firmness that knows that the world will knock you to your knees if you aren't careful, so you'd better hit it first. But…then there's that other side, the joy and the optimism that reminds that stout and grim warrior of justice that there are boundaries and fragilities in this life that must be respected."

He cleared his throat.

"You and Zinn are just two sides of the same coin, in the end." He said. "And I highy doubt that it's only been because of Zinn that the innocent in this world have a fighting chance." He smiled a little bit. "So you and Zinn had a big blowup. That happens! Give it time, let him cool off, and the two of you will be able to mend fences. Because in the end, no matter what, remember that he is going for the same thing that you are going for."

…

"Oh, Horatio, dear?" Edna asked. "Is something going on outside?"

Zwicky looked up from his papers. He'd come back from the All Faiths Chapel an hour or so ago, and despite everything had found himself studying up for tomorrow's docket of witnesses. Sadly, there was only one. And then came the closing arguments. And then…the verdict.

He was trying to avoid thinking about it.

"I don't know, honey. Why?" He asked.

"There are a lot of people out and about right now. It's awfully late, don't you think?" She asked.

Finding himself curious, Zwicky peeked out the window of his house. Almost immediately, he started to realize that something was going on.

For starters, there was a clump of Diamond City security policemen outside in the square, huddled up and talking amongst themselves. Even in the weak light of the night and the lazy neon glow, it was clear that they were trying to be as discreet as possible. It wasn't really working, but all the same they were lucky that most everyone else in the city weren't awake or aware of what they were up to. After some talking, the group dispersed. Some of them headed off towards the Mayor's office…or at least in that general direction.

Three figures were now walking to Zwicky's house.

And Mayor Pitt was one of them.

He barely had time to open the door before they started knocking on it. As soon as they entered, the two Diamond City policemen began scoping the area.

"Windows are covered, Mr. Mayor." One of them said.

"Going to secure the upstairs now, sir." The other said.

"Excuse me, gentlemen, but whatever is the matter?" Edna asked.

"Ma'am, please stay calm. Everything is under control." The guard said.

"What the hell is going on?" Zwicky asked. Mayor Pitt had an ashen look on his face.

"It's Zinn. He's been stabbed."


	7. Do Not Go Gentle

A/N: I own nothing except the laptop I wrote this story on.

He looked deathly pale.

That was the first thing that Horatio Zwicky noticed as he walked into the clinic. The poor lighting might have caused it to be a little bit worse than normal, but there was still no denying the fact that Zinn seemed close to death's door. The only sounds in the room were the dull buzzing from the light bulbs on the ceiling, as well as the steady beeping from the rudimentary heart monitor that Dr. Sun had managed to purchase a few weeks ago. The doctor in question was sitting in a chair next to Zinn, periodically checking the vitals.

"How is he?" Zwicky asked. Dr. Sun looked over at him, and shook his head gravely.

"He's touch and go."

"Well, what happened?" Zwicky asked.

"You'd have to ask him." Dr. Sun said. "He's the officer that was on the scene."

Sitting in the corner was one of the Diamond City Security officers, and he'd taken his helmet off. It revealed the shaggy mop of sawdust colored hair and the wispy mustache that he thought made him look older. Horatio Zwicky struggled not to smile, despite the harrowing situation.

"Daniel Lugo, is that you?"

Lugo looked up. His eyes widened at the sight of his old schoolteacher, and blinked twice.

"Good evening, Mr. Zwicky." He said. He was trying to sound somewhat professional, while still at the same time clearly a little bit awkward having to address his old schoolteacher as a fellow adult.

"What happened, Daniel?" Horatio asked.

"I didn't see, unfortunately." Lugo said brusquely. He got up from his seat, and started to walk out the door. "Seeing as how there's someone else to watch over the ghoul, I'll be returning to my post."

He was stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

"Daniel Lugo, you were always a good and quiet kid in my classes. And you turned your work in on time and never got in trouble." Horatio said. "But you were also a terrible liar. And you still are." He leaned in slightly. "What did you see, son?"

Officer Lugo shifted his eyes from side to side, and sighed.

"It was a classic barroom scuffle, Mr. Zwicky. The ghoul was at the bar, getting a drink. Maybe more than just one. And then a small group of people came and approached him."

"Did you get a look at their faces?"

Lugo was silent.

"Yeah. Yeah I did." Lugo said.

"What happened then?"

"One of them said something to him. Don't know what it was…but it wasn't that nice. And then one of them, whose voice I recognize as clear as day, said: 'no one talks about Mr. Nick like that.'"

"Who said it?" Zwicky asked.

"…Moe Cronin." Lugo said. "The rest were just a bunch of angry drunken citizens."

"What happened then?" Zwicky asked.

"Your ghoul friend here didn't even look at them at first. He just sighed, and finished the bottle of Gwinnett that he was drinking…and then said something. I think he said 'Expectin' an apology?' There was a sort of clicking sound. The kind that you hear from a switchblade. And then the ghoul here swung around and his chair and clocked Moe in the side of the head, shattering the bottle and knocking him to the ground. He punched two of the other guys, and the last one only managed to get the switchblade at him because he was distracted. That's when I stepped in and brought him here, because I wasn't going to let him bleed out."

"Daniel, did you see the one that actually stabbed Zinn?" Zwicky asked.

Lugo sighed.

" _Daniel…_ " Zwicky asked again.

"Mr. Zwicky, no one here in the city hates you for what you're doing." Lugo said. "Havent met a single soul that thinks less of you for doing such a thankless job. But…" He shook his head. "…I don't know if everyone is of the same mind when it comes to your partner. _I_ know that he's just doin' his job, but…there's just a way that he's going about it. I can't speak for the jury, but I know that I watch him speak and I feel less like he's looking out for your clients and more about winning for the sake of the thing."

He opened the door, and was about to leave. But then he turned back around.

"I'll file a report, and most likely there'll be an investigation. Mayor Pitt makes sure that we're all thorough these days. But off the record? People in Diamond City love Nick Valentine. And they look after their own. He's one of us. I don't think that it's very fair for your friend to drag Nick's name through the mud just for the sake of winning. There's gotta be a better way of doing it. But that's just my opinion." He tipped his helmet the way one would doff a cap. "Have a good night, Mr. Zwicky."

After he'd left, Horatio turned back towards Dr. Sun.

"You needn't worry." Dr. Sun said. "Doctor-patient confidentiality can extend towards that conversation as well. If you need me to speak in the future, I will. But I will not leak it to anyone. My clinic is trying to rehab its image in the eyes of the city as it is."

"Thank you." Zwicky said. He was about to walk out the door himself, but then turned around. "As soon as he's conscious or…" He trailed off. "Send someone to find me, okay?"

Dr. Sun nodded, and then with that Zwicky walked back out the door.

…

As soon as Zwicky stepped out into the street, he heard booms in the distance. They sounded like thunderstrikes.

"Sounds like Ol' Bessie right there."

Zwicky turned to see the speaker.

"Didn't expect to see you around here, Jethro. Or to know what that was."

Jethro had a wad of chewing tobacco in his cheek, and spit on the ground. His journalist ledger was in the crook of his arm. He looked wistfully towards the sky.

"I was stationed over at Somerville Place for a spell before the peace talks an' all that." Jethro said. "Got a halfway-decent view of Quincy from the distance. Can't imagine how rotten it looks today. If Ol' Bessie is firin', then that means there's a hell of a battle goin' on."

"Who's 'Ol' Bessie?'" Zwicky asked.

"That's the artillery piece at the Somerville Place." Jethro said. "You ever hear the rumors that, if the Brotherhood wasn't gonna play ball for the peace talks, the General was gonna knock that flyin' thing of theirs out of the sky?"

"Yeah, I heard."

"Ol' Bessie was gonna be the one to fire the shot. It's the biggest and meanest gun the Minutemen got. And it sounds a little bit different than the others. Here, I'll prove it to ya. Listen close." He put a hand to his ear. His aging and craggy features seemed to loosen up in somewhat childish excitement. "Betcha we'll hear something from The Castle soon. Maybe a little fusillade of the Murderers' Row."

There was a series of booms in the distance, separated only by about a second or so with each shot. They were noticeably more staccato in sound and echo.

"See how they were a little higher in pitch? Not as big. Not as powerful. But terrifying when fired together. You followin'?" Jethro asked. Zwicky nodded. "Now here comes Ol' Bessie."

A titanic boom, akin to a thunderclap.

"That kinda shot would level a house, maybe more." Jethro said. "If both the Row and Ol' Bessie are firin' tonight, then it means one of two things are happenin: One, the Minutemen are makin' a push into Jamaica Plains…"

"…Or?" Zwicky asked.

"…They're tryin' to keep the Quincy boys trapped in there, like lockin' a rabid dog in a cage."

"Which one is the better option?"

Jethro looked at him pointedly.

"It's war, Zwicky. There's no better option. There's just the least-awful option."

Zwicky felt a little bit sick. But he shook it off.

"Did you come here to engage in war philosophy with me or what?" Zwicky asked.

"Actually came on behalf of the _Publick._ " Jethro said. "Especially with Miss Piper in the Castle, getting some stories on the frontline and with Miss Nat working the store itself. Someone gotta cover the municipal beat. Wouldn't want the _Publick_ to get all lackadaisical and such."

It never ceased to amuse Zwicky that Jethro, salt of the earth as he was, was equally capable of very verbose moments.

"Well I have nothing for you." Zwicky said. "Other than this: I implore the people of Diamond City to understand that everyone, and I mean _everyone,_ in the Commonwealth is entitled to equal protection under the law. And devolving into vigilante justice, no matter how justified it may _seem,_ has no place under the Commonwealth Accords nor in the world we're all trying to rebuild."

Jethro raised an eyebrow.

"What?" Zwicky asked.

"And you said you didn't have anything for me." Jethro said. He chuckled slightly. "You know, with passion like that, why haven't you been the guy doin' the arguing with Darrow?"

"I don't speak well in public." Zwicky said.

"Isn't that just what teaching is?" Jethro asked. "Anyway, I'm slightly breaking my journalistic neutrality here, but I've heard tell that there's someone in your clientele that wants to meet with you."

"Really?" Zwicky asked. "And how might you know that?"

"A good journalist never reveals his sources." Jethro said. "Miss Piper taught me that." He walked away, whistling a slightly jaunty tune. Zwicky shook his head in confusion. But then he decided to walk over towards the prison.

…

"I understand that there's someone that wants to talk to me?" Zwicky asked the guard at the door.

"Yeah. Fellow is waiting in the solitary room next door." The guard said. "All polite and stuff. Kind of freaks me out. Figured that all of those Institute types were…well, I figured they'd be a little more evil-looking."

"Did you expect lightning to crackle in the background every time that they spoke?" Zwicky asked, somewhat sarcastically.

"Truthfully, I was." The guard said. Rolling his eyes, Zwicky entered the room.

"Dr. Holdren?" Zwicky asked. "What are you doing here?"

"Doing what I should have done long ago." Dr. Holdren said. "Put me on the stand. I'm testifying tomorrow."

Zwicky paused, and then glanced around. He then cleared his throat.

"You are aware that I won't be the only one you have to answer to, right?" He asked.

"I am."

"And you're aware that as soon as I'm done talking to you, that means that Darrow will be able to cross-examine you?"

"I am."

"With all due respect, did you _see_ what she did to Dr. Virgil? Not to be blunt, Doctor, but that testimony was somewhat damaging to our case. Horrifically, if we're being honest."

"Brian Virgil is a complicated man." Dr. Clayton Holdren said. "I firmly believe that he wanted to protect us from cruel treatment with his testimony. But at the same time, he _was_ pretty complicit in some shady things. And he was definitely down to get involved in some of Father's more unsavory experiments until he regained some of his humanity and realized what was being asked of him." Dr. Holdren sighed. "The worst that she can accuse me of is not doing enough to stop the other heads of research or Father from the worst things that the Institute did. And we _did_ do terrible things." He sighed. "Especially Dr. Ayo. Though I guess after that outburst, I suppose that comes as little surprise to you."

"If you're so aware of the problems, then why are you willing to testify?" Zwicky asked.

"Because I was only in charge of BioSciences and agriculture. Everything that I did was _literally_ designed to help the future, both for the Institute and for the Commonwealth. Nothing I did is impeachable. Nothing I did is wrong. It's what I _didn't_ do that Miss Darrow might come after me for, but in the end…I'm willing to deal with that."

"Why?" Zwicky asked.

"Two reasons." Dr. Holdren said. His sunny features seemed to darken a little bit as he spoke. "First, tomorrow I know that Darrow is going to put Dr. Madison Li on the stand. Don't ask me how I know this, just know that I'm not stupid. One day the son of Father walks into her office, and then a few days later she goes AWOL. I know that she returned to the Brotherhood, and I know that they're going to tout her as the star witness to bury us. She's going to get on the stand, all high and mighty, and act as though she was a clueless researcher. That she had _no idea_ what was going on. And I promise you, _that's not true._ "

"Can you prove it?" Zwicky asked.

"…No." Dr. Holdren said. "Like I said, I knew that the Institute was doing problematic things, but I don't know the specifics. But trust me. Madison Li is no angel. Try to get her to reveal that, and I bet the entire façade that Darrow is pushing is going to be seriously weakened. But…" He sighed again. "Don't do it the way that Zinn did it, okay? After that stunt with Mr. Valentine, it's a wonder we haven't been given a summary execution."

"What is the second reason?"

Dr. Holdren looked him in the eye.

"For the children, Horatio." He said. Zwicky blinked once, partially for the fact that Holdren had somehow managed to learn _and_ remember his name. The other part was for the simplicity of the response.

"I'm sorry?" He asked.

"Horatio, don't humor me. I know that, in all likelihood, I'm going to be joining Justin Ayo either at the gallows or the firing squad. I'm not sure about Allie, or Alana. But I'm not holding out hopes for them either." He paused, at the moment looking like he was close to tears as he considered the weight of what he had admitted. But then he cleared his throat. "But in the crowd I keep thinking of little Aelita Rose. She's ten years old. Niece of Alana Secord. Has no idea of what the Institute _really_ did in its depths. She's just scared and frightened and thinking that the Commonwealth people are out to get _her_ simply because she was born underground. Simply because she was wearing a lab coat. Guilty by association. And you and I know that she's not the only one who's equally frightened."

He took a deep breath.

"I don't know if you're a well-versed man in poetry, but there's a line from an old poem. Dylan Thomas. Have you heard of him?"

"I'm not sure I have." Zwicky said, somewhat apologetically.

"Do not go gentle into that good night." Holdren said. "It's an old mantra of many a man who know that the end is coming for them. It gives me a sort of peace. I may be hanged for what happened, but if Aelita Rose and the others can get a chance to build themselves in the Commonwealth?" He extended his hand towards Zwicky. "Then I will gladly rage against the dying of the light. One last time."

Zwicky took his hand, and shook it firmly as the guns thundered in the distance.

A/N: We're getting close! There's probably two chapters left in this story…mostly because you all are probably wondering how things are going for Blue and the others in the war against the Quincy Insurgency. I've spent many a month thinking about how I wanted to structure that fight and story, and a lot of it hinges on the villain. Because a good epic needs a good villain.

…I've finally cracked the code. I know who and what the enemy of the fourth and final story in the _Commonwealth Tetralogy_ will be. That's all I'll reveal at this time. But you might just receive a sneak peek sooner than you think.

And I will reveal the title of that story…at the end of this one.

Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Also, if you have time, there's a little poll up on my profile if you're interested.

See you next time!


	8. Iridescent

A/N: I own nothing except the laptop I wrote this story on.

It was a grey and overcast day. An unnatural chill seemed to have settled over the Commonwealth, in what felt like direct opposition to the oppressive heat that had been so dominant through the summer. Part of it was because of the weather. But part of the chill came from the fact that no one had been able to sleep that night.

There had been a tremendous fight in Jamaica Plain the previous night. The guns from both the Minutemen and the Quincy Insurgency had been going at it at all hours, alternating cascades of violence and man-made thunder. Reports coming in were sketchy, but it was rumored that scores had died, and Jamaica Plains had been completely leveled. There were other rumors that Piper Wright was coming back to Diamond City, but then there were also reports that she'd been injured. To what degree, no one knew. All anyone knew was that no one knew what was going on.

Horatio Zwicky was trying not to spend too much time thinking about these things. He was more concerned with the business in front of him now. He glanced over at the empty seat at the defense's table, and felt a pang of loneliness. He'd gotten a message from Dr. Sun, courtesy of a runner, that Zinn had stabilized…but he was out cold and in no condition to make it to the remainder of the trial. That meant that Horatio was completely alone.

As the crowd began to shuffle in, Horatio felt a presence behind him. He turned around. It was Darrow.

"Where's Zinn?" She asked.

Zwicky didn't bother with pleasantries.

"He was stabbed last night."

Darrow was silent for a moment. She wrinkled her nose slightly. Her mouth twitched downward. And then she spoke.

"Hmm. Crime. Boy, I don't know."

Before he could stop himself, Zwicky spoke.

"You know, Clarice, we owe it to the people to put forth a good final day of arguments and then closing. Which reminds me of a story: I had a particular class of students whom were like unmolded clay: full of potential, but didn't really have the shape yet. Their minds were there, their hearts just needed to be put in the right place. And I molded them and pushed them and got them to understand an important thing: that to truly succeed in winning a great victory for mankind, you need to do the right thing even if it carries consequences."

Darrow snorted.

"I'm sure your students remember with great clarity and pride the wonderful and powerful sermons delivered from your bully pulpit." She said.

"As a matter of fact, they do." Zwicky said. "Just last month I got a lovely letter from a former student of mine – Denise Richie – who's working down in Rivet City. That's all the way down in the Capital Wasteland. She's in shipping and construction, and hopes to be in charge of the reconstruction of the Citadel and other impressive buildings. And she just wanted to write me and let me know that she made it out of Diamond City and that she intends to win a great victory for mankind, because she remembers me always saying things like that."

"…And you're telling me this why?" Darrow asked.

"Because over the course of this trial you've managed to turn being ruthless and disengaged from people into a Zen-like thing, and you shouldn't enjoy it so much is all. And if it appears at times that I'm uncomfortable being around you, that's the only reason why."

Darrow smiled. It wasn't a kind one.

"And you, my friend, are a soft-hearted doormat. You're overeducated and frustrated with your lack of standing in the world. You've got your head in the clouds thinking that the world is going to be okay in the end as long as we clasp hands and sing a few songs, and to top it off you're not even an attorney. You're just a teacher." She shook her head. "And if it appears at times that I despise being around you, those some of the many reasons _why._ "

She turned around and began to walk to her desk. Zwicky cleared his throat.

"Clarice?"

She turned around.

For the first time in a while, Zwicky wasn't slouching as he spoke.

"Teachers like me make a difference in this world. And when this trial is over, I'm going to go back to my job and help inspire more Denise Richies to change the world. Can you say the same?"

For the first time in a while, Darrow's icy demeanor cracked. A flash of rage and uncertainty flitted across her eyes. But then the moment passed, and she hastily walked away.

…

"Order in court!" Vadim bellowed, taking a seat at the table. "Order of business for today. Hear testimonial of prosecution witness, Dr. Madi-"

"Excuse me, your honor?"

Everyone turned to look at Horatio Zwicky, who had spoken up. He felt a countless sea of eyes upon him, and for a moment wondered whether his nerve would fail him. But then he cleared his throat again, and spoke.

"The…the defense would like to submit another witness for testimonial."

"Who is this witness?"

"Dr. Clayton Holdren, Head of BioSciences at the Institute." Zwicky said. "If the prosecution has no objections?" He looked over at Clarice Darrow. She was sitting at her desk, her back ramrod straight. She tapped her chin in thought, and then shook her head.

"No objections, Your Honor." She then smiled slightly. "On the grounds that the new witness testify first."

"A fair compromise." Vadim said, not noticing the disappointment in Zwicky's eyes as he rapped his gavel on the desk. "The Court calls Dr. Clayton Holdren to the stand."

…

Dr. Holdren cleared his throat as he sat down in the same chair that had held Dr. Virgil the day before. He seemed a complete opposite of Dr. Virgil: while he was equally as dirtied and tired looking, he didn't look emaciated and defeated. He seemed relatively at peace, though with what no one was certain. He tapped his fingers expectantly on the desk, waiting for someone to start talking to him.

Oh right. That would be _him._

Horatio Zwicky got up from his chair, groaning slightly as his knees creaked. He started to pace back and forth. How had Zinn done it? How had he been so at ease in front of people, at speaking the things that he had spoken? Eventually, Zwicky could feel the pressure creeping up. But then, in the heat of the moment, he heard his wife's voice in his ear.

 _Don't worry, darling. This is just another lesson. Just another thing for everyone to learn._

And in that moment, he realized: he wasn't in a courtroom. He was just in an unorthodox classroom. And instead of trying to convince the people of something, he was there to teach them. To teach them not to give into the mob mentality that had resulted in his…was he a friend?...Zinn getting stabbed over an argument.

He took a deep breath.

"State your name for the court."

"Dr. Clayton Holdren."

"Your profession?"

"I was the head of the BioSciences division of the Institute."

"That's quite a mouthful, Doctor. Is it possible that you could specify?"

"Certainly." Dr. Holdren said. "I was basically in charge of the boring but practical things. I was the one that worked on medical advances. I was the one that worked on and signed off on terraforming and hydroponics. Which…now that I think about it isn't a terribly easy way of putting it. Put it this way: I usually involved myself in working on growing food, nurturing animals, and had a hand or two in advancing medication."

"That seems like critical work. Why do you call it boring?"

"Because it's not the kind of thing that most people think about when they think about the Institute. They usually think of the more…unsavory accusations. Kidnappings, etc."

Zwicky thought he saw Darrow furiously scribbling something in her notebook. He felt a pang of regret in his chest. Hopefully the Doctor's willingness to be forthright wouldn't come back to haunt him.

"Doctor Holdren, why did you agree to testify today?"

"Because I wanted to."

"…Why, though?"

"Why not?" Dr. Holdren asked. "While Dr. Virgil's testimony is important, he wasn't a part of the Institute for the past year or so. I was in the thick of it until the very end."

"If that is so, then can you elaborate to all of us the chain of command in the Institute?" Zwicky asked.

"Certainly." Holdren said. "At the top was Father. He had the final say on everything, and nothing went through without his approval. Then there was Dr. Li and Dr. Ayo. Dr. Li was sort of a swiss army knife scientist. Whatever needed to be worked on, she was willing to work on it. Though, truthfully, she was more involved in the 'theoretics' than the practicalities. She kind of found my work boring. I called it 'essential.'"

"And Dr. Ayo?"

"The head of security." Dr. Holdren said. "Dr. Ayo and I never interacted much."

Zwicky came to a realization.

"Dr. Holdren, is it a fair assumption to make that you know the least about the ins and outs of the Institute in comparison to the other department heads?"

"Well, I wouldn't say that I know _nothing._ " Dr. Holdren said. "But if what you're suggesting is whether I was always the last person to be informed about something, then yes. That's a fair assumption to make."

"So you spent your entire time locked away working on food and medicine. Is that a fair assumption?"

"I'd say that's fair."

"Then why have you agreed to testify?"

"Because I'm not a fool." Dr. Holdren said. "I know why we're here. I know that the prosecution seeks to put us all away. I'm here to prevent that from happening."

"What do you mean by that?"

Dr. Holdren sighed. "I'm here to see to it that justice is done. That everyone receive what is the rightful verdict and fate."

"That's a very specific wording, Doctor." Zwicky said.

"I'm aware." Dr. Holdren said. "I know what the people of the Commonwealth want. They want to see all of us burn. I'm not unsympathetic to that claim. But I'm here to say that the majority of the people huddled over there in that group had no idea what the Institute is accused of doing, and as far as I am concerned they are all innocent souls."

"Are there some people in the Institute that you would consider otherwise?"

"…Yes." Dr. Holdren said.

"And where are they?"

"Dead." Dr. Holdren said. "Killed by the Minutemen or the explosion of the Institute. Whichever came first for them, I suppose."

Zwicky took a deep breath. And then he aked the question that seemed to materialize in front of him.

"So, Dr. Holdren, are you saying that, other than the Institute heads that are currently with us…no one that is in the Institute Remnant can be considered culpable for the accusations that the Institute face?"

"That is correct." Dr. Holdren said. "Other than the Institute heads, everyone that stands in that group is either a janitor, cafeteria worker, family member, or low-ranking grunt. None of them knew anything. None of them are guilty of the crimes that the Institute face. And to put them to death would be a gross injustice."

Zwicky nodded.

"Thank you, Dr. Holdren."

He walked back to his seat.

…

Darrow was on him in moments.

"Do you expect any of us to believe that?" She asked. She seemed to have dispensed with the pleasantries, and was going straight for the jugular. "You expect us to believe that there are only a few of you that are guilty of what the Commonwealth has suffered?"

"It's not about what _you_ believe, Miss Darrow." Dr. Holdren said. "It's the truth. It's facts." He paused. "I'm a scientist. I know that facts are stubborn things. But whatever may be our wishes, our inclinations, or the dictates of our passions, they cannot alter the state of facts and evidence."

Darrow gave a derisive scoff, as if intending to do just that.

"How do any of us know that you aren't lying?" She asked. "How and why should we believe you when you say that you knew nothing of the atrocities until after the fact?"

She seemed particularly nasty today. Zwicky wondered what was going on.

"In a few moments, you're going to call Dr. Madison Li to the stand." Dr. Holdren said. "And she's going to dismiss me as the kid of the heads of the departments. And she'll no doubt suggest that I am easily led along. And she'll suggest that I knew about the Institute's great crimes and did nothing to stop it."

"But you didn't stop it!" Darrow positively yelled. "You let it happen! You did nothing to help the people of the Commonwealth, and you certainly didn't help the Synths that you all kept bent under your thumb."

"If he were alive today, I imagine Liam Binet would disagree."

The proceedings ground to a halt. Darrow's jaw fell open.

"What?" She asked.

"Liam Binet." Dr. Holdren said. "His family was dear to me. The fact that they didn't make it out…that eats me up every day. Because while his father was wrapped up in the 'science' of what we did, Liam…Liam was noble. He was trying to save the Synths. He was giving away information to some sort of underground resistance. Maybe even to the Minutemen. I'm not sure. But he certainly cared about the lives of the Synths that we made."

He saw that Darrow wasn't talking, so he continued.

"One day, I was walking down the hall, past a broom closet, and I thought I heard talking. It was Liam's voice. He sounded furtive and scared, like he was doing something that he shouldn't. I just know that there was another voice in the room, clearly on a headset of some sort, and they were discussing a plan to free some of the lower-level Synths. I was outside the door, and I heard everything." Dr. Holdren said. "I could have reported him. Could have sent him to Dr. Ayo, who would have gotten the information that he needed by any means necessary. Could have sent him to Father. Could have done so many things. But instead? I just kept walking. Because I knew, deep down in my gut, that there was something wrong with the Institute. And I was in too deep to stop it myself. But if Liam could do something…then I would let him. Because that was the noble and right thing to do."

He sniffled once.

"Liam's death weighs on me." He said. "Every death weighs on me. And with every day I've spent on the surface, I've only come to realize that what I was a part of was wrong. Maybe my department _was_ designed for the greater good. But I was simply a cog in an overall machine that was a negative and painful influence on the world. And for that I cannot deny culpability." He stared at Darrow with piercing eyes. "If I am convicted of guilty by association, I will go to my gallows with no fear or regret in my heart. It is the right thing to do. But I'll be _damned_ if I see you send the children and their parents and the downtrodden and innocent with me, simply because their only crime was being born underground."

There was a silence that seemed to last an eternity. Finally, Darrow spoke.

"The witness is excused."

She went back to her seat, and there was a change over her. Zwicky could feel it. At the onset of the trial, she had seen the Institute as this monolithic structure of menace and hate and fear. And perhaps it was, in the end. But now she seemed to have come to the same realization that Zwicky had discovered: that the people she was tasked to convict, in all likelihood, were as innocent of its crimes as she was. They were no longer the enemy, the shape-shifting and otherized "boogeyman."

They were humans. They were people.

He wondered if that realization had broken her.

…

Whatever plans that Clarice Darrow seemed to have for Madison Li evaporated. As the Doctor took the stand, she seemed to be far less assured of herself than when Zwicky had seen her earlier in the day. Zwicky stood up first to question, and when he saw that Darrow wasn't objecting, he began.

"Dr. Li, I have a few questions."

She looked at him with mournful eyes.

"The things that Dr. Holdren said…are they true?"

"…Yes." Dr. Li said. "The majority of the SRB, that secret police of ours, went down with the Institute itself. Other than myself, Clayton, Justin, and…well…maybe Alana…there's no one in that group over there that deserves to be hanged."

"And why is that?" Zwicky asked, with the measured tone of a teacher helping a student work through a particularly challenging problem.

"…Because they're just kids and teens and unaware family members." Dr. Li said. "Father was positively paranoid about people knowing things that they weren't supposed to. Not a single one of them over there, other than Justin or Alana, knew what was going on. They're all innocent."

"You are a witness of the prosecution, and you admit this under oath?" Zwicky asked.

"I do. I'm tired of the subterfuge. I'm tired of this damn trial." Dr. Li said wearily. "Just let us get to the verdict, whatever it may be."

Zwicky looked at her, and nodded sagely.

"Nothing further, Your Honor." He said.

"Does the prosecution have anything to ask?" Vadim asked, looking over at the table in question.

Zwicky looked over at Darrow. He saw her with her head buried in her hands.

She didn't say anything.

Horatio Zwicky felt calm.

But at the same time, he didn't feel all that happy in the end.

A/N: And come the next chapter, we receive the final part of the trial. The verdict.


	9. One for the Angels

A/N: I own nothing except the laptop I wrote this story on.

"Miss Darrow?"

Horatio Zwicky looked up. He realized that Vadim had spoken to the prosecutor that sat adjacent to him. But she hadn't responded. So Vadim repeated the question.

"Miss Darrow?"

She managed to look him in the eye.

"Yes, your honor?"

"It is time for closing statements." Vadim said. "This trial must have conclusion."

Darrow nodded once, as if robotically. She stood up, and cleared her throat. Aimlessly, she shuffled the papers on her desk as though that would serve as a method of jogging her memory. Of motivating her to speak with the same acidic invective that had given her such control over the trial to this point. She opened her mouth, and then closed it. She sighed.

And then she turned towards the jury.

"Do your duty. Punish them."

There was no malice in her voice. There was no hate, there was no rage. There was simply exhaustion. Exhaustion and depression. She was little more than a husk.

She sat back down.

…

He wasn't sure what prompted him to stand up before Vadim called him. If he had stopped to think about it, no doubt his fleeting courage would have failed him. But Horatio Zwicky stood up, and walked over towards the jury. He stood next to them, his hand resting on the railing that separated them from him. He looked down at his worn shoes. And then he looked up and spoke.

"Do your duty." He said, as if repeating what had been said prior. "Indeed, do your duty." He looked at one of the jurors, an elderly man with a wizened expression and a pensive gaze. "That is your job, after all. You have been called here to do your duty." Zwicky's eyes found another member of the jury: a young woman, who couldn't be older than twenty-five. "But before we reach that point, I suppose the question must be considered: what _is_ your duty?"

He started walking back towards the center of the courtroom. He was vaguely aware of where he was going, as if in a waking dream. And he was only tangentially aware of the fact that the entire place was hanging on every one of his words. It didn't stop him. If anything, it seemed to calm him.

"Is it your duty to acquiesce? To write off everything that you have heard from the prosecution, the way one might write off a bad investment?" He paused. And then he turned back to face the jury. "Or is it your duty to punish? To raise up your hands as a collective flail, and scourge those that stand before you?" He gestured towards the Institute Remnant. "They are right here. There is no shadowy conspiracy that haunts the Commonwealth anymore. This is all that remains of them. All that remains of the Institute. The recipients of whatever justice you deem appropriate…there they stand. All fifty of them." He let the silence hang in the air.

"What is your duty…" He muttered to himself, pacing back and forth. He stopped again, this time with his hand resting on the side of his desk. "To acquit? To punish?" He looked them in the eye, and felt a great weight on his shoulders. He missed his wife. He wondered if she was watching somewhere. But he pushed those thoughts from his mind and he spoke.

"I believe your duty is neither."

There was a hushed murmur that rippled through the crowd, as though a revelation had passed through or some terrible secret had been revealed. Zwicky noticed the confused look on the faces of the jury. This did not stop him. He continued to speak, lest his nerve fail him.

"Let us look at the facts. Despite the supposed mountain of evidence presented by the prosecution, there is one thing that is clearer than the morning light. The evidence cannot be conclusively tied _to those that stand before us_ , accused of such crimes. That is not to question the existence of these crimes; that is simply to question their connection to the men and women that I was called to serve before the honorable court." He said. He looked back at the Institute Remnant. "Facts are stubborn things. And no matter our inclinations, or the…dictums of our passion, they cannot alter the state of facts or evidence." He looked back at the jury, and shrugged. "And the fact of the matter is this: the prosecution, in my mind, has failed to conclusively connect the men and women that stand before you and the crimes that you are asked to find a guilty party for. But does that mean that we must disregard the crimes themselves?" He paused, and scratched the side of his temple in thought. "No. No, I suppose not. So what are we left with?"

He took a deep breath, and he looked out to the crowd.

"For years, we lived in the shadow of fear. In the shadow of the Institute. And as we hid in the dark…we let it begin to influence us. We let it govern us." He felt a strange calm coming over him. "For did we not expel those that seemed different from us? Did we not glance towards our neighbors with a newfound suspicion? Did we not fear the unknown? Did we not wonder if things would worsen, and that we would wake up one morning with everything that we knew destroyed, though we were not sure how? And did we not, to protect ourselves from this…immaterial fear…did we not turn to our neighbors, our friends and family and brothers and sisters…and accuse them? We didn't always do it with words. But we did it with actions. We did it with the thoughts in our heads. We did it with the unspoken words of our heart." He looked back towards the crowd. "The Institute did commit great crimes, yes. But we are also guilty. We are guilty of betraying our fellow man and woman. We are guilty of giving into fear."

He looked towards Vadim. And then towards the Institute Remnant. And then towards Darrow and finally the crowd again.

"It's been almost a year now. Months since the bomb went off, and the Institute vanished. It's gone. Gone. And yet it lingers still. It lingers in our hearts. It lingers in that wolfish desire for revenge. We see the people accused, and the hate in our heart returns. We do not want justice. We want _revenge!_ " He shouted this last line, causing everyone, even Darrow to jump in surprise. Zwicky didn't lower his voice.

"But revenge is not the bedrock of the society that we're trying to rebuild! Revenge is not the bedrock of the society that I or Miss Clarice Darrow stand before you to adjudicate! And revenge _certainly_ isn't the bedrock of the society that the Minutemen and Brotherhood of Steel are fighting and _bleeding_ and _**dying**_ for!"

As if to punctuate his statement, in the distance there were echoes of artillery fire. Another battle was raging.

"No." Zwicky whispered. "We stand here to do something else entirely." He knew all eyes were on him. "We stand here to do something different. We are not here to acquiesce. We are not here to punish. So what are we here for? I propose something else entirely." His next words were practically a whisper.

"To _forgive._ "

He looked over towards the jury, and made one last walk over towards their pulpit.

"I am not asking you to disregard whatever the evidence has shown you. If you believe that the evidence tells you differently than what I or my partner have interpreted for you, then make your decision. But I _do_ ask of you this: when you make your decision…when you know what the verdict is…remember. Remember that there is no more poisonous draught than revenge. Do not let it cloud your judgment. Do not let it cause you to make a decision you would regret. I ask…no, I _beg_ of you to look within yourselves. And in your verdict, may you choice justice over vengeance. May you choose compassion over cruelty. May you choose the _future_ instead of the shadows and hate of the past."

He felt slightly light-headed. He could feel the last of his energy sapping away.

"And in the name of all that is good and just, _may you do your duty._ "

He sat back down.

…

There was a slightly stunned silence. And then, Vadim cleared his throat after what felt like an eternity of nothing. Nothing but the distant boom of the guns.

"Jury shall now retire to private quarters to reach verdict." He rapped his gavel. "We shall reconvene as soon as you are ready."

Like waking from a dream, the twelve jurors silently filed out of the staging ground and made their way towards the Wall. At the base of the wall was a small tent where they would discuss the case, to be guarded by members of the Diamond City security so that no one could influence or interfere with their decision. And Mayor Pitt had picked only the most trustworthy men and women to defend the tent; not a single one of them would dare leak what was discussed in that small canopy of canvas and string.

Horatio Zwicky blinked, and realized that the crowd had all but dispersed. He'd been sitting there, locked within a hazy daze, for far longer than he should have. His first thought was of Edna. Where was she? She was probably at the house, no doubt waiting for him to come home. She wasn't a big fan of crowds; she'd be patient and kind for every time that he'd left to partake in this whole charade. Truthfully, he felt silly. And then he felt thirsty.

He needed a drink.

…

He didn't care that, technically, he wasn't supposed to be at the Dugout Inn. He'd already done everything that he was supposed to: he'd said his piece. It was up to the jury to decide what the fate of the Institute Remnant was. And as far as he was concerned, he didn't give a damn about judicial procedure right now. He was just tired and thirsty, and ready for this all to be finished.

He felt the crowd of people in the bar all of a sudden giving him a wide berth. He wasn't sure why, but then he became aware of a presence behind him. He swiveled around in his chair.

It was Darrow.

"Can I join you?"

Her voice was uncharacteristically small. She seemed somewhat uncertain. She certainly didn't look like the lioness that had ripped Dr. Virgil to shreds and had nearly throttled Zinn with her bare hands. For a moment, Zwicky didn't speak. But then his true nature revealed itself.

"Of course." He said. "Take a seat."

She was wearing one of those duster coats that were popular with travellers these days. It was the kind of ensemble that let you easily hide any firearms that you needed, and was aesthetically handy too: it allowed warmth at night. And it also was an imposing enough look that any particularly jumpy bandit would give it a second thought. And that second thought might be the difference between safe travel and an unmarked grave.

But the fact that she was wearing this coat also told Zwicky something else: she was planning on leaving.

"When are you headed out?" Zwicky asked gently. She looked up.

"Soon. I hear that there's a caravan from the Castle coming in tomorrow. I'll head out with the next shipment."

"Where will you go?" Zwicky asked.

"Don't know." Darrow admitted. "I might go to the Castle for a bit. I might try to make it to the Capital Wasteland. I might even go out west. I hear that the New California Republic is doing really well. They might need lawyers."

" _We_ need lawyers, Clarice." Zwicky said. "And despite whatever disagreements we might have had in court, you are an exceptionally talented prosecutor."

Yefim dropped a pair of Gwinnett Stouts at their table. Darrow looked at them in confusion, but Zwicky raised a hand to assure her.

"I'll pay for them."

"They're not poisoned, are they?" Darrow asked. Zwicky allowed himself a tired smile.

"No. Gwinnett is hellish enough without poison."

Darrow stared at him, a mask of confusion on her face.

"What?" He asked.

"Mr. Zwicky, I spent the entire trial belittling you. Belittling your partner. Amplifying the hatred for the Institute. I…I _did_ delight in making Dr. Virgil cry in front of everyone. And right before all of this happened, I straight told you to your face that I didn't like you." She looked him in the eye. "And yet here we are, and you're buying my drink. Why?"

Zwicky raised an eyebrow.

"You don't get it?" He asked.

"No." She said. Zwicky shrugged.

"I never said that I disliked _you,_ Clarice. I only disliked your behavior. I only disliked how you seemed not to care about anyone other than getting your verdict." He said. And then he raised an eyebrow. "And then came…the testimony of Dr. Holdren." He looked at her. "What happened?" He lowered his voice. "Did you lose your nerve?"

Darrow stared quietly at her drink for a moment. And then she took a slow and deliberate sip. She stared some more.

"I hated them." She said quietly. "I hated them so much. Everything about the Institute. I just…I can't explain it. And what they've done to…what they've done to others and to the people that they just tossed aside, it ate me up. I promised myself that I was going to do whatever I could to get some sort of revenge. I know that you gave that closing speech asking us all to look past the base revenge but…I still wanted it. I wanted to make them pay. I wanted them to know the suffering and the helplessness that they made others feel."

"What changed?" Zwicky asked.

"I guess you got me to 'see' them." Darrow said. "All of a sudden, I didn't see them as _The Institute_ , that nightmarish boogeyman. I saw them as the men and women and children that they all were. And in my heart I knew…even though there were a few of them that absolutely deserved punishment…most of them didn't. And I suddenly realized in that moment that I was going to give them the same punishment across the board. I…I couldn't do that." She looked at Zwicky. "I'm terrible at my job. I'm not supposed to think about things like that. I'm only supposed to do my job. Right?"

"I disagree." Zwicky said. "I think the fact you found yourself developing your conscience isn't a bad thing." He smiled slightly. "You're human after all, Miss Darrow. It's not a bad thing."

"Yeah…" Darrow muttered. "I suppose I've done a man's job, hmm? Or, rather, a woman's in this case."

They drank quietly with no more conversation.

…

The following morning was brisk, with the sun beginning to peek over the edge of the walls that surrounded Diamond City. It was a full crowd, with standing room only burgeoning into the streets. The Institute Remnant was huddled together, exhausted and tired of waiting for their fate to be decided. Zwicky didn't begrudge them that, if nothing else.

Vadim racked his shotgun, the closest thing that he had for a judge's gavel. The court fell silent. If anything, the entire city had gone quiet. He put on his reading glasses, and turned towards the jury.

"Has jury reached a verdict?"

"We have, your honor." One of the members of the jury said.

"Very well, please read." Vadim said.

"One moment, your honor." The same jury member said. "The jury has reached a verdict for every single individual of the Institute Remnant."

"That was not your job." Vadim said, raising an eyebrow.

"With respect, sir." The juror said. "Our responsibility was to find a verdict. We have, and we have found it in the way that is most conducive to justice and fairness."

Vadim was silent for a moment. He steepled his fingers together. And then he shrugged.

"Very well. You may read."

The juror cleared her throat.

"On the charges of murder, kidnapping, conspiracy to commit kidnapping, et al, we find the first defendant, Arthur Newton…" she paused. "Not guilty."

There was a slight moan. One of the Institute Remnant, clearly Mr. Newton, collapsed to his knees in relief and shock.

"On the charges of murder, kidnapping, conspiracy to commit kidnapping, et al, we find the second defendant, Olivia Newton…not guilty."

Husband and wife were now both on the ground, hugging each other and weeping quietly.

Horatio Zwicky could hardly believe what he was hearing.

 _Not guilty._

 _Not guilty._

 _Not guilty._

 _Not guilty._

 _Not guilty…_

One by one, the members of the Institute Remnant were openly weeping or embracing. Zwicky can barely feel his lower extremities.

 _Not guilty._

 _Not guilty._

 _Not guilty._

 _Not guilty._

 _Not guilty._

Even the crowd seems to welcome this spate of decisions. Rather than baying for the blood of those that have been found not guilty of the pain of the Institute, there is instead a respectful silence. A quiet and dignified willingness to let those that were absolved have their moment of peace.

 _Not guilty._

 _Not guilty._

 _Not guilty._

 _Not guilty._

 **Guilty.**

The word comes through like a hammer striking an anvil. Zwicky blinks once, his euphoria disappearing. He looks and sees the person that has been given this verdict.

Dr. Clayton Holdren stands up, his face betraying nothing except acceptance.

"On what charges?" Vadim asked. The juror reads off.

"We find Dr. Clayton Holdren guilty of conspiracy, and conspiracy to commit kidnapping."

The next one to stand is Dr. Alana Secord.

 **Guilty.**

"On what charges?"

"Conspiracy to commit kidnapping, and conduct unbecoming a scientist."

Dr. Madison Li?

 _Not guilty._

Dr. Brian Virgil?

 _Not guilty._

Dr. Justin Ayo?

 **Guilty.**

"On what charges?"

"All counts, sir."

"BULLSHIT!" Dr. Ayo explodes, like a volcano erupting from long dormancy. "This is nothing but a SHAM and you are all _scum!_ You're no better than us! We put spies everywhere in the Commonwealth, and you have the _gall_ to render us guilty? You're just as awful as we were, only you won't admit it!" He was practically frothing at the mouth now. "I hope the Quincy Insurgency buries all of you! I hope that they burn down every house and kill every man and sell the women and children into-"

He was interrupted by a fist flying into his face at what looked like terminal velocity.

Dr. Clayton Holdren shook out his hand, and then sighed.

"We all have to accept what's coming to us, Justin."

There were no more incidents for the remainder of the verdict. One by one, the people put on trial were given their exculpation. Until there were no more names to read.

"This concludes trial." Vadim said with a healthy amount of exhaustion in his voice. "Thank you for service. Court adjourned."

Horatio Zwicky buried his head in his hands, and let out an exhale that seemed to last an eternity.

It was over.

…

He heard voices in his house as he approached the door. One of them was his wife. Edna was tittering over something that one of the students had done today, and the way she was so exicted warmed his heart. Clearly they'd had a good day. But that other voice. It was a little bit subdued. But it was familiar.

Jovial.

Raspy.

He opened the door, and felt a sense of relief in his chest.

"Zinn."

The ghoul's upper torso was bandaged up, and he looked a little paler than normal, but there was no denying the twinkle of life that danced in his eye.

"Didn't think you'd get rid of me that easily, did you?" He asked.

There were so many things that he wanted to say. So many things that he wanted to tell the man sitting in his lounge.

"Zinn, I-"

Zinn held up a hand softly.

"You don't have to say anything." Zinn said. "Because you were right. From the get-go, you were right. If anything, I owe you an apology. For being an insufferable and stubborn ass." He smirked. His voice was a little bit quieter than normal. No doubt Dr. Sun had advised him to keep his voice down for the foreseeable future. "Maybe getting one in the gut was my wake-up call."

"Only you would joke about taking a stab wound." Zwicky said, allowing a smile to return to his face. It was good to see Zinn again. Despite everything, he was glad to see him.

"Maybe. But now I don't think I have the right to talk about how awesome I am anymore, not after today and yesterday." He smiled a little bit. "Heard you had a helluva single-player moment with Darrow."

"It wasn't much," Zwicky said. "I was just speaking what I thought was right."

"Well, I'm willing to bet that your little speech about what you thought was right was enough to sway the jury. There were fifty people on that dais, and you got 48 of them off without a scratch."

"Zinn, you did a lot too."

"I only pissed people off." Zinn said. "And I'm lucky I didn't get shot for what I said about Valentine. One of these days, when things cool down, I need to apologize for that. I doubt he'll accept it, but if nothing else he deserves to hear it. Before I go."

Zwicky raised an eyebrow.

"Before you go?" He asked. Zinn chuckled slightly.

"What, you think I'm gonna stay in the city where I suffered a stab wound to the solar plexus? Nah, I think my time in Diamond City is probably done." He looked vaguely mournful. "I…I was actually here waiting for you to get back so that I could properly say goodbye."

"Well, where are you going?" Zwicky asked.

"I'm thinking Goodneighbor." Zinn said. "It kind of fits my personality a little bit more, I think. Plus, I think I might do a little bit better working with that crazy mayor of theirs. He offered me a job."

"He did?" Zwicky asked. "How'd he hear about you?"

At this, Zinn looked gently amused.

" _Everyone's_ heard of us, Zwick." He said. "Other than the fight going on, the trial is the only thing that people cared about on the radio and in the papers. The _Publick_ was selling out last night, from what I hear. They just printed your closing argument word-for-word. Far as I can tell, you might be one of the most famous men in the Commonwealth…outside of the General, of course."

Zwicky felt slightly sick to his stomach. He hadn't been trying to make himself look heroic. He was just doing his job. And this was what he told Zinn. The ghoul smiled.

"What you were _trying_ to do is immaterial, buddy. What you ended up _doing_ was pretty impressive. I think that you might wanna remember that when you start moving on to bigger and better things."

At this, Zwicky blinked in confusion.

"Bigger and better things?" He asked. Zinn chuckled.

"Please. You don't think that people are going to forget what you did for them, do you? No, they're all buzzing about what happened. If you wanted to, I think you could run for mayor against Pitt. Maybe even do something else. Maybe even try to create a university or a school system for the Commonwealth when the war ends. But I don't think that you're going to live out the rest of your life as a simple schoolteacher, Horatio."

Zwicky opened and closed his mouth, still slightly uncertain of what to say to his friend. Finally, he sighed in exhaustion and shook his head.

"Zinn…In a few weeks I'm going to be 59. I'm a shadow of my shadow. My day was decades ago."

Zinn stared at him, a cryptic twinkle in his eye.

"I think your day is just beginning, Horatio Zwicky."

He sighed, slowly getting up from the chair.

"Well, it's about noon. The caravan from the Castle should be here soon. They're gonna be making a refuel stop through Goodneighbor on the way back, and that's where I'll step off. But for now…" He put on a battered fedora, adjusted his coat, and stepped out the door.

"Wait."

Zinn turned around. He saw that Zwicky was putting on his coat as well.

"Why don't I at least walk you over there." He said. "Make it a worthwhile goodbye."

"Don't call it a goodbye, chief." Zinn said. "We'll meet each other again. You know it."

…

The caravan was stuffed with people, both coming and going. Truthfully, it was the first major caravan that had managed to leak into Diamond City in a couple of weeks. News of the most recent hostilities seemed somewhat promising: there had been a titanic attack at Jamaica Plains a few night ago that had caused the Quincy Insurgency to retreat back a little bit, but at the same time there was no telling what effect this would have on the overall trajectory of the war. It was a brief bit of good news, but not much more.

One of the biggest bits of news was the fact that the caravan was carrying Piper Wright. And sure enough, there she was. She looked tired, frazzled, and worn out. Her coat was tattered on the edges, and she looked like she had a black eye that was fading away. But when she hugged her little sister Nat, it was clear that all of her pain, both physical and otherwise, was briefly and mercifully forgotten.

As Zinn helped himself onto one of the wagons that was hitched to a Brahmin, he tipped his hat to Zwicky.

"Take care, Horatio." He said. "See you on the other side."

Zwicky smiled slightly.

"And you too, Zinn. You too."

He walked over towards the head of the caravan. The fellow was short, stocky, and had a mustache that he was clearly quite proud of.

"Excuse me, sir?"

"Yes, yes. What is it?" The man asked.

"You're making multiple stops on this caravan, correct?" Zwicky asked.

"Yeah, and we need to get going. I've got to get back to Bunker Hill by six, and then to the Castle by nightfall. We're dropping off Miss Piper Wright, and we also have that doctor from the Castle that's here to help a few people out."

"Who's the doctor?" Zwicky asked.

"Oh, that one lady with the funny accent. Curie, I think?" He said. "She's here to help provide Dr. Sun with some more medical equipment, and buy some from the stores. But then she's going back on the next caravan to the Castle."

"And when are you going to Vault 81?"

The conductor of the caravan looked at him with confusion.

"Vault 81?"

"Yeah. The prosecutor from Vault 81 said she's probably going to the Castle or otherwise, but I figured that she might want to stop home, first."

The conductor blinked blankly.

"What prosecutor from Vault 81?"

Zwicky felt himself losing patience, something he rarely did.

"Clarice Darrow. She was from Vault 81, and then she was called to serve as a prosecutor from Vault 81 in the Institute Remnant trial. Ring a bell?"

Now it was the conductor's turn to look annoyed.

"Look, pal, I know Gwen McNamara, the Overseer of Vault 81, _personally._ I've seen the ledger of every stinkin' person in that vault. I know 'em all by name. There ain't that many people in that vault, after all. And I can tell you this: I've _never_ heard of a 'Clarice Darrow.'" He made a dismissive waving motion with his hand. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have things to take care of."

He shooed Zwicky away.

He walked away in a daze, and then bumped into Ellie Perkins.

"Oh, hello Ellie." He said. "How are you?"

She gave him a sad look.

"Could be better, Mr. Zwicky." She said. "Nick's leaving."

"He's _leaving?_ " Zwicky asked. "Why?"

"Not sure." Ellie said. "He said he's taking a little 'vacation' of sorts. Something about a harbor, a case he heard. He wouldn't tell me." She made a face. "He always tells me everything." She then looked worried. "How about you? Are you alright? Did you hear about what happened last night?"

"It was another battle at Jamaica Plains, right?" Zwicky asked.

"No." Ellie shook her head. "It was at _Covenant._ "

"Covenant?" Zwicky asked. "But that's above the Jamaica line!" He looked around. "How bad?"

"Not bad at all." Ellie said. "The Minutemen on station repelled them off. But, still…they went that far north…" She trailed off.

Neither of them said anything. Because they were both thinking the same thing.

 _They're getting braver._

"You stay strong, alright?" Zwicky said. "Keep an eye on the agency. Nick will be back, don't you worry about it. Things will be alright. I know they will. Just…just need to have faith, right?"

But though he spoke, he felt the words ring hollow. He just sort of staggered away.

…

He didn't even realize that he was standing outside the mayor's office until he blinked once, and then twice. Just like that, he realized that he'd been doddering about, as if in a dream. The weight of everything that he had heard over the past few hours had caused him to feel like he was concussed. Something wasn't clicking upstairs, and he was only just capable of staying calm.

Mayor Pitt was standing behind his desk. He was looking at a map of the Commonwealth. He looked up in confusion, only for his features to relax.

"Oh, hey Zwick. Didn't hear you coming in." He straightened up, and crossed his arms over his chest. "That was a hell of a closing speech there, you know. I knew you were a good choice for that job." He smiled a little bit. "Just wait a few years before you try to take mine, hmm?"

Not really listening, Zwicky cleared his throat.

"Mayor-"

"Call me Willie. You're more than deserving to be on a first-name basis."

"Oh, ok. Willie, how did you hear from Clarice Darrow? How did you find her?"

"She found us, really." Pitt said, confusion on his face. "I sent out the call for a prosecutor, and she answered it. Said she was from Vault 81, but hadn't lived there in a while. Her paperwork was in order, and she passed the interview with aplomb. Why?"

"Well, according to the caravan director…there's no record of a Clarice Darrow living in Vault 81."

"What?" Pitt said. "Oh don't be silly, they probably just updated their records after she moved."

"Have you asked her?" Zwicky asked.

"No." Pitt said. "Actually, it was the strangest thing. She just left a few hours ago. Didn't even want to be paid. Just said thanks, told me to say thank you to you, and left a little present." He gestured towards something on his desk. "I thought it was pretty, but I don't really get what its significance is. So right now I'm compartmentalizing. Might need to start improving Diamond City defenses, if the rumors of the attack on Covenant are true…"

But he was lost to Horatio Zwicky, as he wrapped himself up in his latest bit of mayoral plans. Zwicky took the little trinket, a small origami unicorn, and marveled for a moment over the craftsmanship. But then he set it down, and walked over towards the edge of the Mayor's office, giving him a view of both the city and things to come.

And when he looked out into the distance, and saw the Castle, he felt himself shake his head. The Castle. That bright, shining and resilient beacon of hope in these trying times. How were they doing? What were they thinking of things? Were they all capable? Were they ready? Zwicky hoped so.

Because from where he stood, everything seemed to be teetering on the edge of everything.

A/N: And thus concludes _Aequitas!_ It was a heck of a fun write, and I hope you enjoyed it. It is the third of my planned _Commonwealth Tetralogy._ I'll take a break for about a week or so (teaching ain't easy!), and then I'll dive right back into it. I'm looking forward to writing this one. As I'm sure you know, I've been teasing a little bit of it from time to time. But I will at least let you know what the proposed title of my next story is, so that you can get an idea of what's to come.

 **RAGNAROK**

Till next time!

-The Fighting Irishman


End file.
